


From Ashes

by theramblinggirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Phoenixes, Slow Burn, Tumblr Prompt, get it cause phoenixes and burning, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-16
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-06-02 13:45:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 24,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6568621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theramblinggirl/pseuds/theramblinggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leto lived and died three times before Danarius captured him. Broken, the phoenix lost his memories and took the new name "Fenris." His escape into Kirkwall is lonely until he comes across the Champion and seeks her help. Hawke's colorful friends, from a satyr, a faerie, a werewolf, and Maker only knows what else bring excitement and hope to Fenris, who thought he lost those things long ago.</p>
<p>"If Fenris and Hawke were mythical creatures, what would they be? Write about it. Turn the whole Kirkwall crew into mythical beings." Based on a prompt from the tumblr FenHawke Archive. Because I am shameless FenHawke trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Feathers, Tears, and Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here's a neat song you can listen to if you want.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fp2xrgojTxo)

In his first life, the sky was his. He took pleasure in the feeling of the wind in his feathers, only to take landing in a beautiful burst of blue flame. Leto rarely walked among people, taking pleasure in the quiet of solitude. Still, in the skies he found his brothers, his sisters, his family. Together they hid and loved and _lived_. He knew nothing better.

In his second, he flew with less caution. Leto knew there was the coming of the flames that would swallow him up, make him new. He wanted to make sure this life was as satisfying as the last. Varania chided him when he shifted to mingle with humans. He saw no point in living in fear. They would not pluck his feathers unless he showed them, and Leto never trusted one enough to shrug off the cloak that hid the feathers he could not force away with magic.

In his third life, Leto found someone who spoke of their great need for the cures of phoenix feathers. Taking pity on the man, he shrugged off his cloak and allowed him to take two feathers. The man smiled in thanks. Leto did not catch the venom in this grin as he left town. Varania did. Her brother would not hear such warnings.

Leto’s fourth life began in captivity. Danarius, the man who had coaxed the young phoenix to relinquish two feathers, was not some poor sick beggar. He was a wise and powerful mage, who meant to use every last thing he could get out of his caged phoenix with each life Leto lived. When Leto cried, Danarius took his tears. When feathers shed from Leto’s back, they were collected. When Danarius wanted to work a particularly potent spell, he shed some of Leto’s blood.

More lives passed. Leto melted away, memories fading into someone new. Someone Danarius called “Fenris.” Fenris did not live in a cage, but worked at Danarius’ side. The flames meant to heal, meant to be gentle, instead burned in fury; biting the skin of the mage’s enemies like teeth. There were days when Fenris heard the cries of great birds, calling for their lost brother to return home, but he no longer knew the name these birds spoke through their sobbing.

Danarius marked his skin with magic to strengthen his “favorite pet.” What he could not have known was that this magic, meant to keep Fenris as his slave, was what would free him. His fire burned hotter, and the voices of the phoenixes in the sky grew louder. Fenris’ eyes remained dry. No more tears would be given. The flame meant to swallow him came sooner, and it was the Fenris that emerged from this who escaped.

He took to the sky, an old friend he never knew, flying far until he landed in a bustling city. Fenris was weak from the long trip, but tucked in his wings and hid himself away. He stole a cloak the next day, more used to his human form from so many lives spent in it. He looked like a human in their eighteenth year.

The nature of Fenris’ fire changed again. From healing, to hurting, and now to defending him and keeping him alive even as Danarius sent men and spirits to chase him. Fenris grew used to this game, but also grew tired. He could be alone no longer.

Life’s sense of irony came to visit. The name Hawke, that of a bird but given to a human, was spread through this city of Fenris’. A Champion of the small, of the weak, and of the poor. Hawke was the one Fenris would need to find.

Striking eyes and black hair greeted him with kindness on the evening they met. There was a small hovel in the city Hawke dwelled in, and it was from there she did her dealings. She smiled like Fenris was an old friend, coming in for a visit.

“Welcome,” Hawke said, and it was then that Fenris realized it had been so long since he’d been given opportunity to speak.

His first attempt at a reply was a weak croaking sound. Hawke did not laugh, and simply offered him a drink of cool water to soothe his throat and calm his nerves. As Fenris drank, he examined the room around him. It was as if she’d made the whole house a kitchen, with spices and herbs and flowers on every surface. It was a cluttered mess, but it looked like the sort that was kept that way because Hawke knew where everything was at any odd moment.

Fenris liked this hominess and warmth. When he was with Danarius, everything had to be kept clean and tidy. Nothing was out of place and no dust was allowed to collect. Fenris wished he had something else to compare Hawke’s hovel to, because he hated to think of Danarius any longer than he needed to.

“I require some assistance,” Fenris said, placing his cup down on a table that miraculously had room for it.

“That’s what I’m here for. Champion of Kirkwall. I’ve been thinking of having a plaque made for the door,” Hawke said. “But that wouldn’t be prudent. A Champion has enemies, and it’s best that those unsavory folk don’t find out where I am. You, however, are not one of those. So what can I do for you? Or - first I should ask - what should I call you?”

“Fenris,” he answered. There was a twinge in his brow that gave away that this was not truly his name. She had not asked for his name, if one was to argue semantics, so he was not lying to her, but still he wished he knew his name from before to give her. “I need to be able to hide from someone who is pursuing me.”

“And a better cloak,” Hawke said, pointing to the brown scorched thing around his shoulders. “Are you a cook? You must work with fire.”

“I...yes,” Fenris said, looking away from her. He could not lie and still meet her gaze. She didn’t seem to mind.

“I can solve all of your problems with one easy solution. I’ll need a day to work on it, but by this time tomorrow night, I’ll have your cloak ready. It will keep you hidden and will never catch fire, no matter how bright or strong the flame,” Hawke said. “What payment would you think appropriate for such a thing?” She cocked her head to the side, a finger resting on the side of her jaw with the rest of her knuckles tucked beneath her chin.

“I am...uncertain. I’ve not much money and have never received something as extravagant as you promise,” Fenris said, the hint of skepticism evident in his tone. How could she work such a cloak, and in just one night?

“Then think on it,” Hawke said. “An idea is sure to come to you.”

Fenris thanked her, and left without another word. Again, she did not mind this. He was embarrassed by his oddities and awkward demeanor, but Hawke smiled the whole time, like she understood it all. Fenris was not looking forward to another encounter with her, yet he could not sleep from the anticipation of their next meeting.

Hawke had been correct. Fenris plucked two of his feathers, cringing at the pain when he pulled them. His skin was still tender from the many times his feathers were plucked before. He found a small vial as well, forcing out a few quick tears and sealing it shut. Hawke needn’t know that they were his, the feathers and the tears both. She required payment, and Fenris had provided it.

To his relief, yet also his surprise, Hawke did not even ask if they were genuine, nor did she want to know how he could have procured such items. She left them on a small side table, and sashayed into the other room, reappearing seconds later with a heavy black and red cloak draped over her arms. When Fenris looked closer at it, thin silver lines were embroidered all around it in delicate details.

“Go ahead,” Hawke said. “Try it on. I’m sure it will look quite dashing. Though if it works like it should, it shouldn’t look like anything at all.”

Fenris hesitated. If he removed his shoddy brown cloak, Hawke would be able to see the feathers that remained, the small wings that remained the same size as they were in his bird form tucked tight against his back. He clutched the cloth close to him.

“I can change when I return home,” Fenris said.

“If you don’t wish me to see, I can turn around,” Hawke said. Her words were gentle, which only made him prickle. Hawke’s behavior was unusual, in Fenris’ experience. And he suspected something about her that he didn’t like.

“You mustn’t look,” Fenris said, voice dipping to a growl. “Swear you will not.”

Hawke rose her right hand, crossing her left over her heart. Fenris remained perplexed as she closed her eyes and said, “I swear I will not look at you again until you give me your permission.” Then she turned her back to him, waving in a gesture to say _go on._

Fenris changed, quick as he could without hurting himself. True to her word, Hawke did not even peek. When he’d finished switching, the old cloak laying on the floor, he cleared his throat and told her she could look. Hawke turned, blinked, then moved her head around. For the first time since he’d met her, her smile had fallen.

“Say something again, I can’t find you,” Hawke said.

“I’m standing right here,” Fenris said.

Hawke clapped her hands together in delight. “It worked! I mean, of course it did, I’m brilliant, but still. It _worked_!”

Fenris glanced down at the cloak around his body, and when he focused, he could feel the magical energy coming from it. He wanted to throw the thing to the ground at his discovery, but he needed the cover. And if she truly could not see him as she claimed, Fenris could never be discovered again.

“You never told me you were a mage,” Fenris said, ready to make a retreat if he needed to.

“You never asked?” Hawke said. “Hold on, I feel very silly talking to an invisible person. You can make yourself visible again if you decide that you want to be seen.”

“Then it is too bad for you,” Fenris snarled, “that I wish to stay hidden.”

He fled. Hawke stumbled forward, begging him to wait, to stay, but he would not hear any lies she would speak. Fenris would be captive no longer. He returned to the place he’d called home for almost six whole years now, and threw the cloak from his body. He would need it, Fenris knew this, but it disgusted him to touch the thing. He could not stop feeling the magic, sitting on his skin with an invisible weight.

His emotions forced the markings on his body to flare and change him into his bird form. Fenris found the window and took flight, trailing blue flame in the sky as he went. Like this he could so easily be seen, but he needed the air to rustle his feathers and remind him he was free. Danarius could not take his sky again. Hawke, whatever it was she wanted, would not take it either.

Fenris did not want to think of moving on yet, but knew it would be inevitable if Hawke came looking for him. As the creator of his cloak, his protection against discovery, she would know its weaknesses. He could not give her that chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love phoenixes and they are very underappreciated. There are appearances from other characters in later chapters, because this got out of hand and picking species for the others sounded like too much fun.
> 
> [Here's the other prompts in case you were interested.](http://fenhawkearchive.tumblr.com/post/142866013413/fic-starter-friday) These chapters will go up as they're finished pretty much. Or as I feel like it. They'll also be as short or as long as the piece of the story dictates, so prepare for really irregular posting!


	2. A Little Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Decided somewhere along the way to post a song with every chapter. [Makes things fun.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFqy56mmAhc)

Hawke had known from the moment he appeared that Fenris was a phoenix. Typically they were solitary creatures, though Hawke shook her head at the word. It hardly seemed appropriate for someone who could speak and think and even appear like a human if he so pleased. Fenris was no creature. He was a person, and he was terrified of something.

When he spoke his request, Hawke corrected herself. Fenris was terrified of some _one_. Understandable, as his whole being could be used for remedies the like and strength of which could never be matched. Tears, feathers, blood, and even the song of a phoenix were all supposed to have curative properties. With even just a few drops from Fenris’ eyes, Hawke knew she could cure many of the people who suffered in Kirkwall. But she could not simply ask for these things from him.

If the magic he required had been simpler, Hawke wouldn’t have even asked for payment. Yet, this would be hard work, even if she could do it in a day as she’d boasted. Hawke liked to make herself seem more powerful than she was, because it added to the legend and mystique. At least Varric said that it did, but that chatty satyr would say anything if it made an interesting story.

Speaking of which, the second Fenris left her humble domicile - she could afford better, but again, living in a hovel added to her character - Hawke prepared to seek help for this undertaking. Constructing the cloak itself was one thing, but to sew in the proper enchantments could take ages. Her two hands alone would cramp to the point where she could no longer move them if she attempted this alone, but Hawke knew four other hands that held magic.

Hawke hurried through the streets, her shoes sprouting little wings to speed her along as she found the dank sewers running beneath the city. Anders was always there. Always. Unless he was with Hawke getting some job done, he would be there. That was just the way it worked.

Except today, apparently, where he’d gone and...well, he’d just _gone_. Without so much as a note! The nerve. It was almost as if his whole existence didn’t revolve around Hawke and whether or not she needed him.

She checked the moon. Not full, so Anders wasn’t big and furry and running around causing mayhem in the woods. Hawke huffed and ran back the way she came, out of the sewers and over to the gardens of Kirkwall, where the faeries lived.

The fae population had been sated by this offering, and actually played nice with humans most days. Even Tamlen and Mahariel, pranksters though they were, had certain hours of operation during which their pranking would be active. Their off hours were spent lazing about in the sun or the moon, depending on the time. Of course, their schedule was subject to change at any moment, so the whole thing was frankly pointless.

Merrill, at least, was not mischievous as her two friends. Hawke found her sleeping on a daisy. Merrill claimed daisies were the softest to sleep on, but Hawke had never attempted a shrinking spell to test this. She was too afraid of never being able to grow back to normal size. Even if she did, Hawke was certain she’d be just an inch off. One inch alone can throw a person off, even if they start wearing heels all the time.

Hawke nudged Merrill with one finger gently as she could, to rouse the fae from sleep. Merrill sat up with a yawn, stretching her arms high in the air and flicking her wings. She looked up at Hawke and squeaked.

“Oh! Hawke! Was I supposed to expect you?” Merrill said.

“No, dear, this is a surprise visit,” Hawke said. “I need some assistance with work and Anders is nowhere to be found.”

“I think he might be with Karl again,” Merrill said.

“Of course he is,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes. She was happy for them, but found the whole thing quite sappy. The eyes they gave each other when they thought no one was watching were beyond saccharine. Still, Hawke couldn’t help but grin.

“It isn’t a full moon tonight, is it?” Merrill asked, staring up. “No. No it’s not.”

“So, can you help?” Hawke said.

“What do you need me to do?” Merrill asked.

“I’m making a cloak. I kind of...promised to have it done in a day. But it needs at least two base enchantments sewn in. Probably some enhancement ones thrown over top and more powerful ones added around those. I’ll draw up the designs when I’m back home,” Hawke said. This really was a larger job than she could do in a day, even with Merrill’s help. “Though considering all that work, we should look for Anders and Karl, first.”

Merrill nodded and rose into the air, her body shifting so she was proportioned correctly to match the size of a human. She was still much shorter than Hawke, and her limbs were unusually thin, but for the most part she looked human enough. The pointy ears and bug eyes were other signs that she was fae, in case the wings on her back weren’t enough of a dead giveaway.

“Let’s hurry before Marethari notices I’ve gone,” Merrill said. “She gets so cross when I run off without a word.”

“She is kind of your mother,” Hawke said.

“But I’m nearly seven-hundred years old now! I can take care of myself. Mahariel is only six-hundred and forty three and _he_ gets to run around all he wants,” Merrill said, her cheeks puffing in anger.

Hawke just laughed. Even cranky the fae was adorable. “I don’t think it’s so much that she lets him do it and more that he and Tamlen just don’t worry about the consequences. Surely after looking after them this long Marethari knows just how hard it would be to control those two,” Hawke said.

Merrill nodded. “They are utterly impossible.”

Hawke thought of all of Karl and Anders’ usual haunts. She snorted at the little pun she made in her head, earning quite the look from Merrill. It was too bad Karl was no longer corporeal, because Anders definitely needed the comfort of a touch. On the other hand, it did remove all chances of him “wolfing out” and biting Karl. Anders didn’t have to fear becoming Karl’s cause of death, because that had already happened. Theirs was not the easiest relationship.

Finally, they found Anders chatting with his barely visible boyfriend, seated at the base of the well in the town square. Merrill shrank herself again and flew at them fast, hugging Anders’ nose and planting a little kiss on it. He shrieked, then laughed.

“Little Bug, shouldn’t you be sleeping right now?” Anders said, offering his palm for her to rest on.

“Hawke needs help,” Merrill said. “We were looking for you.”

Anders looked up, and indeed, there was Hawke, just a few feet away now.

“Good evening, fellows,” Hawke said.

“Merrill said you need help? Nothing serious, I hope,” Anders said.

“Worrywart. No, it’s a job for a…” Hawke paused. “I shouldn’t say what he is. I mean to make a cloak that will hide him from people whenever he doesn’t want to be seen. It also needs to be fireproof. Because he’s a cook.” She added the last part a bit too quickly.

“I see. And he wears a cloak while cooking?” Anders said.

“He’s very concerned about fashion,” Hawke insisted.

“As any good cook should be,” Karl quipped.

Hawke had almost forgotten he was there. She had to wonder if Karl had been so stealthy even when he was alive. She never asked these kinds of questions though, and especially not around Anders. It felt rude to bring up the fact that he was no longer of the living.

“It will require loads of enchantments stitched in finely. Plus I’d like it to look nice. The thing he’s wearing now looks like the same material as a potato sack,” Hawke said with a shudder for dramatics.

Anders laughed. “Alright, alright. This sounds like a dire case. I’ll be by in the morning.”

“Uh, actually I need you...now,” Hawke said, playing with her hair. “I promised to have it done by tomorrow night.”

Anders looked ready to kill Hawke. “You’re insane,” he said.

“I prefer eccentric?”

“Don’t tell me this is about Varric’s ‘mystique’ again. Why you listen to a _thing_ that satyr says is beyond me.”

“His stories are very compelling,” Karl said. Anders looked betrayed.

“It’s already done and this guy seems like he could really use it. Please, Anders?” Hawke begged, falling to her knees with her hands clasped together. “If I try to do it with just me and Merrill our bodies will freeze up so bad we’ll never move again!”

Merrill gasped. “Do you really think that could happen?”

Anders shook his head, chuckling. “She’s just being dramatic, Little Bug.” He stood, then offered Hawke his hand. “I will help you. But promise me you will start setting more realistic goals from now on.”

“I promise,” Hawke said. “Even if the customer is ridiculously handsome.”

Karl rose a brow. “Was he?”

“Was who what?” Hawke said.

“This cloak-wearing cook of yours,” Karl said. “Was he handsome?”

Hawke’s whole face turned red within seconds. “Maybe,” she said. “I wasn’t really paying attention to that.”

Karl just laughed, and Anders joined in. Wouldn’t be the first time she developed a crush on a customer. Of course, these people rarely came back once they were given what they needed, unless they decided they needed more. That kind of relationship, the server and the served, could never work long-term. Anders offered to introduce her to someone, but Hawke would never have it.

They would have to be magical, or else their lifespan would be pathetically short and she’d lose them in the blink of an eye. They would also have to fit all her standards, which weren’t terribly high but were high enough to weed out any bad seeds. Hawke was almost determined to just be a hermit, finding joy in what she gave instead of what she received. She’d told Isabela that once, and just got a dirty comment in return.

Hawke went back to her hovel with Anders and Merrill in tow. Karl had decided he’d had enough excitement for one night, and said goodbye to a forlorn Anders. Once his hands were busy with the cloak, he didn’t mind the separation as much. He had a lot of cloth to sew together before it would even be ready for Hawke’s enchantments.

Hawke sat at a drafting table that she kept in her room for exactly this purpose. She summoned up designs of runes in her head, for resistance to flame and invisibility first. Those went on the bottom corners of the cloak, against the small pieces of red decal Merrill had suggested adding. The purpose of the cloak was for hiding, but there was no rule saying that when it was visible it had to be plain.

Runes of empowerment to charge those on the bottom would run along each end. In the center Hawke bunched a number of runes into patterns, for quiet, distraction, and forgetfulness. Fenris himself would not be affected by these, only anyone with powerful enough sight to work through the invisibility enchantments. Hawke then worked in lines that gave a sense like something was sliding off of the cloak. Intent was everything, and she focused all she needed into her designs.

Hawke was done with the sketch when the sun rose up. She’d made sure to add a few tiny runes for comfort, in case his feathers would be sensitive to the materials Merrill chose. Hawke had never had the pleasure of meeting a phoenix before and had no idea what other needs she ought to anticipate. She at least decided she could rule out the need for warming enchantments, as Fenris’ internal flame would surely be enough.

Hawke laid out the page with all her designs, and the three friends got to work embroidering the cloak. The thread was blended with cotton and unicorn hairs, which gave it that silvery shine. Hawke had been saving it for the right occasion, and this cloak was deemed worthy. She had only gotten this thread because she saved a unicorn from a group of hunters once, and they gave it to her as an offer of payment. Hawke used the whole spool.

“Well, I will never have thread that powerful ever again,” Hawke said, yawning. “Anders, could you try it on? I want to be sure it… Oh crap!” It was later than she thought. Fenris would be by soon. Hawke would have to have the customer himself test it. “You two should go. Get some rest, I’ll let you know how it went tomorrow.”

Neither of her friends argued. Anders wished her luck before hurrying to the sewers. Merrill said the same, and flew out an open window once she was small again. With the cloak tucked into a back room for a dramatic reveal, Hawke sat back in her chair and fought the sleep that tempted her eyelids into drooping.

This second encounter was not what she’d hoped for. Hawke was delighted that it worked as it should have, but that she had woven it with magic of her own hands upset him. She didn’t know what he must have expected, perhaps that she was ordinary and just worked with magical beings. If that would have been more acceptable, she couldn’t say. Hawke had just wanted to give him what he needed.

She studied the payment he’d given, frowning. This stuff was valuable, useful, and made her sad. Phoenixes made themselves scarce because they were hunted for these things, often by other mages. Hawke knew, as she remembered this, that it was likely Fenris had been hurt by such a mage.

For the moment, she needed to sleep, but not before she did one last thing. Hawke took the smaller of the feathers, which was soft and downy, and brought it to her room. She would use this for a locater spell in the morning. She was compelled to find Fenris, whether he wanted to be found or not. Hawke didn’t even know what she would do when she found him, but she didn’t want to leave things as they were. She needed to explain, prove that she was not the same as mages who hunted down those they called “creatures” for the magical properties their bodies possessed.

Maybe if Fenris met Merrill, he’d see that Hawke was a friend to non-humans. She considered bringing Varric along, but he would likely tease her endlessly for the crush she had developed on a phoenix, of all things. If Isabela could be talked into leaving the water, she might be convincing, but she might also try to sing at Fenris. Luring him into the depths of the ocean wouldn’t help anyone.

No, Merrill was safest of them all. So long as Tamlen and Mahariel didn’t decide to tag along (meaning following Hawke in secret), they should be able to make a good impression on Fenris and convince him to trust in Hawke again. From there...Hawke would have to wing it.

She smacked her head as she realized she’d inadvertently made yet another pun, considering both Merrill and Fenris had wings. Hawke only wished she had a pair of her own. She’d decided long ago that in another life, she could have made an excellent dragon. She liked to hoard and would have loved flying and breathing fire. Instead she was just a crummy human mage. Where was the fun in that?

Hawke stretched herself out and settled into her bed. Whatever happened, she’d at least apologize for not being completely opaque with Fenris the first time around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to keep up the flip-flopping perspective thing. Keeps things interesting, I think. Plus its fun for me so there.


	3. Apologies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here’s a song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8pJ2HGdWdoc) Listen only if you want but this band is amazing.

Fenris had made no definite plans (not yet, he told himself again and again) to leave Kirkwall. The thought remained in the forefront of his mind as he donned the cloak again and left for the market. It felt lighter now than it had last night, the weight of its magic more tolerable now. He had known the thing had to be made with magic to do all that Hawke had promised, but this magic was different from any Fenris had felt before.

He’d known no other mage than Danarius, unless Fenris counted Hadriana, Danarius’ student and ward. Neither of them had magic like Hawke’s cloak held. It was...warm. There was no word more appropriate for it.

Fenris banished these thoughts. He needed to test the cloak’s power to make sure it would work like he needed it to. Last night he had convinced himself to do this before thinking of where he could run to next. Kirkwall had been his home, if he could really call it that, for years. Leaving it should have been an easy thing to do, but Fenris felt himself hesitate every time he considered it.

To test the cloak, Fenris shifted his mind from the desire to be seen and the desire to stay hidden. He noted the usual curious glances from passersby until he thought of becoming invisible. No one looked at him now. As he moved through the crowd, other people in the marketplace flowed around him like they were water to his oil. They didn’t seem to think anything of their need to avoid him, simply moving as the magic of the cloak dictated. Hawke had more power than she showed.

Fenris did a bit of shopping while he was out, picking up some food that he could have for lunch and stuffing it in his pack. He thought about flying outside the city to take in the scenery. The coastline was not far, though he wouldn’t dare go near the waters. Being a fire-bird was reason enough to avoid it, but the ocean was populated with merfolk, sirens, naiads, and more.

Fenris had met them in previous lives with Danarius, and decided he wasn’t a fan. Even if they were only vicious because his master had been after their scales or what have you, seeing them like that made avoiding them sound like the better course.

There was also a wooded area not too far to the north. Though Fenris preferred mountains, there was something nice about perching in a tall tree. He just had to be more delicate with how he expressed his flames.

Something smacked against his face. No, not something, some _one_. Apparently, some of the Fae were unaffected by the cloak’s powers. Or it at least seemed that way as the small girl peeled herself from his nose.

“I’m so sorry! I was looking for someone and I...wait a moment,” the faerie girl said, her eyes squinting as she studied Fenris. She gasped with sudden joy. “It’s you!”

“Do I know you?” Fenris asked.

“No, but you are wearing our cloak,” the faerie said.

Fenris felt his muscles tighten. “What do you mean by-?”

“Merrill! Where did you go?” A good ways away, Hawke was stumbling through the crowd while wearing a ridiculous pair of glasses. “I can see the invisible but I can’t see the unfindable!”

“Over here, Hawke!” the faerie called.

Hawke whipped her head around and perked up when she caught sight of them. She lifted her glasses and realized she could still see Fenris, who hadn’t even been trying to hide at the time. Fenris grimaced, but did not try to run this time. They were in the middle of the marketplace. Surely she wouldn’t do anything to him here.

Hawke found her way through the crowd and held a palm out for her faerie friend. “Thank you, Merrill,” she said, hair pushed back with the glasses atop her head. Her bright blue eyes - which used to just look pretty but now seemed like they shined with hidden magic - met his green ones. “Hello, Fenris.”

“What do you want _witch_?” he said.

“Not a witch!” Hawke insisted. “Witches live in old huts in the middle of the woods and are wizened and grey. I’m just a mage. One of those who does magic but gets to stay youthful and beautiful forever.” She flipped her hair for emphasis, waggling her brows. When Fenris appeared unamused, Hawke cleared her throat and settled. “Um, Merrill? Care to…?”

“Oh! Yes of course,” Merrill, the faerie on Hawke’s hand, said. She leaped into the air, wings flicking as she shined with light and grew to the size of an ordinary human. Fenris took an instinctive step backwards. Her face bore magical markings that reminded him of the ones Danarius liked to place on his “investments.”

“I see you have a slave of your own,” Fenris said. Fire sparked around his fingertips, the lines over his skin glowing with a faint light.

“What?” Hawke said, eyes going wide. “No. Nononono… _goodness_ no. Merrill is my friend. I wanted to introduce you to a few other people in Kirkwall. I got the feeling you don’t know many people around here and maybe you could use some...pals.”

“Pals?” Merrill said, barely covering a snicker as she spoke. Hawke shushed her.

“There is no need,” Fenris said. “I will be leaving soon.”

“Leaving Kirkwall?” Hawke said. “Well, I mean, it isn’t the best city ever or anything so I understand wanting to leave, but I guess I just… I mean…”

“Hawke wanted to say she was sorry,” Merrill burst. Hawke shot her a look. “What? You weren’t saying anything. I thought you wanted me to help out.”

Hawke sighed. “Yes, I did, _thank you_.” She ran a hand through her hair and leaned her head forward, which caused the glasses to fall back onto her face. She fumbled them for a moment then tore them off, folding them and stuffing them into a pocket of her jacket. “I wanted to apologize for not simply telling you what I am sooner. It upset you and I can only guess the reason for that. You don’t need to tell me, of course, and I won’t ask, but I’d hate for you to...hate me. Or think I’m untrustworthy. I mean, that is the last time I listen to the advice of a satyr,” Hawke said.

“You know a satyr?” Fenris said.

“Hawke knows _everyone_ in the magical community,” Merrill said, nodding. “She’s like the unofficial ambassador between us and non-magicals. And the official Champion of Kirkwall.”

“Just because I solved the problem with that raging Minotaur,” Hawke said. “The guy was planning to get his whole family involved and overthrow the human rulers of the city because he thought they stole this ancient puzzle box from them. Minotaurs and their puzzles, right?” She paused, but Fenris did not know enough about the bull-headed beings to comment. It was striking him just how little he knew besides which parts of their bodies were worth the most on black markets, and which were most potent in certain spells.

“Anyway, it turned out a mermaid friend of mine nicked the thing off of some pirates she drowned. Walked into the main hall soaking wet and handed it over. They were so pissed about it being waterlogged that they wanted to tie her up! Couldn’t have that, so I ended up dueling their leader. It was crazy, really,” Hawke said.

“And you nearly died,” Merrill said.

“Big swords are not fans of tender human flesh, it seems,” Hawke said. “Still got the scar.”

“What I gave you before could get rid of it,” Fenris said.

“Wouldn’t that be a waste? I know of at least three people sick with pox that could use those things more than me,” Hawke said. “Plus the scar makes me feel like a badass.”

Fenris had no idea what to make of this woman. She was a mage, but she was friends with these creatures...these _people_ , instead of plucking the faerie’s wings and descaling the mermaid’s tail. He pulled his cloak closer to his body as he thought of these things, his wings tucked tighter than before with the hopes of keeping them safe and hidden. Even if Hawke was the saint she claimed to be, Fenris could not allow her to discover what he was. He would not be caged ever again.

“Fenris,” Hawke said, eyes revealing gentle sympathy, “I wanted to make sure you felt safe, here. Whatever or whoever it is you’re running from, you don’t need to fear them if you have friends who have your back. It doesn’t even need to be me, but I think you’d like some of us. Even Aveline isn’t too bad, for a human.”

“Why are you so persistent?” Fenris asked. “Don’t tell me you do this with everyone who comes to you for help.”

“I don’t,” Hawke said. “I think...it’s because you ran. I didn’t want to leave things like that.” Merrill mumbled something that Fenris didn’t catch, but it sure did make Hawke blush. “ _Merrill!_ ” The faerie simply giggled, shrinking down and flying up into the air. “Tamlen is a bad influence on you, you know!”

“I’ll let him know you said that!” Merrill said. “Invite Fenris to the Hanged Man!” She flew away, leaving Fenris alone with the mage.

“The Hanged Man?” Fenris repeated. It wasn’t a pleasant-sounding name for anything. Surely they didn’t intend to befriend him by bringing him along to a public execution. Unless that was simply the way things were done in Kirkwall.

“It’s a tavern. Run by a human, but populated by magicals for the most part. We play cards and drink there every Friday night. It’s a good time to meet the gang. We’ve got other friends who occasionally stop in, too. All very friendly, I promise,” Hawke said. “Though careful with Isabela. She can be _too_ friendly, if you know what I mean.”

“I’m certain the entire Free Marches knows what you mean,” Fenris said.

Hawke snorted. “So, will I see you there?”

What surprised Fenris the most was not that he needed a moment to think, but that it was because he was actually considering it, rather than spending that time to think of the most ruthless or most polite way to turn her down. Trusting Hawke still didn’t seem like a good idea, but she had helped with the cloak. Her finding him hadn’t been to ask about the feathers, either. But Fenris had made the mistake of thinking of a smile as genuine before.

“You will have to wait until then and see,” Fenris said, pulling up the hood of the cloak and willing himself invisible. She blinked, though did not reach for her glasses. He slipped away, deciding that a perch up in the trees sounded ideal for lunch today.


	4. The Hanged Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Here’s another song from Sheepy!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=18JQUYgpOlw)
> 
> [This is the one Isabela sings later in the chapter.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3hMdoGet2A8)

Hawke had genuinely forgotten her glasses were even there when Fenris disappeared. Blast her strong magic! That cloak of his was _too_ effective. By the time she’d even remembered she had a way to see the invisible - an enchantment that had taken her most of the morning to craft right - he was long gone. Hawke kicked the dirt.

Instead of spending the time explaining that she hadn’t meant to deceive him or proving that she was trustworthy, she’d boasted about how she’d beaten that minotaur, a story anyone who had heard of her was sure to know. Hawke wished for the days before “the Arishok,” when her mother was still alive and her siblings hadn’t spread themselves to other corners of the world, seeking lives of their own. Carver had never liked living under her shadow, but when it grew too big even for Bethany, Hawke knew she’d lost them. The only family left in town was her uncle Gamlen, which didn’t leave her much.

Hawke had a new family, even if they weren’t her blood or even the same species. Anders would have been closest, if not for that lousy werewolf problem of his. Together they looked like quite the mess, but it worked. Even Sebastian had a few rare sightings. Unicorns could be so skittish.

Which only brought her thoughts back to that cloak, and to the phoenix who seemed determined to hate her. Hawke couldn’t not take it a little personally, even knowing all that she did. Magicals and mages had a rough history, and even now there were parts of Thedas where they were used like they were no better than cattle. Tevinter was the worst, where that was concerned, and Hawke hadn’t missed the slight notes in Fenris’ accent.

Hawke wished she had a name to apply to who hurt him, so she could curse them properly. Perhaps even literally, if she felt like dealing with dark magic again. It wasn’t often that Hawke did, but her slate wasn’t always shiny and clean. Sometimes, a situation just called for some hexes.

In any case, she needed a drink. The Hanged Man was busier than it usually would be this early in the afternoon. Maybe Corff’s attempts to make the food more appetizing were working. Hawke could only hope so. Otherwise her and Anders would have to deal with more people who got ill after trying his Seafood Medley. More like Seafood Surprise, and the surprise was that half of it walked on land. Thankfully, it only moved before being cooked, and not after. Small blessings.

Hawke could follow the recently mopped up spots on the floor to where Isabela sat, her hair still dripping. She claimed it was better for her skin and her health, but Isabela still downed glass after glass of ale, so health probably wasn’t a huge concern of hers. She waved Hawke over to her table. Varric was nowhere in sight.

“Where’s Varric?” Hawke asked, sitting down.

“How come you never just come here to see me?” Isabela said with a fake pout. “Hurts my feelings the way you only ever want to see Varric. Haven’t you heard? Merfolk do it better.”

“I’m sure you do, but you and I also both know I have no intention of sleeping with either you _or_ Varric, so please. Where is he?” Hawke said.

“Up in his room I’d bet. Working on a new story or something to spread to the masses. I still can’t convince him to write me in as your lover,” Isabela said.

“It was one night,” Hawke groaned.

“It was three,” Isabela corrected with a wicked grin. “And many times that you tried my _Seafood Medley._ ”

Hawke was bright red as she stood up and turned towards the stairs. Isabela cackled as her friend absconded in hopes of escaping more embarrassment. Mermaids and their songs were almost as bad as sirens. The differences were they stayed beautiful even when the magic wore off, and they didn’t _always_ try to drown or eat you. Plus sirens were more bird-like. Hawke thanked her lucky stars that Bela was not a siren.

Varric was indeed in his permanent residence in the Hanged Man’s few rooms. It was a fine suite, adjusted to his tastes. Hawke could hear him pacing before she even opened the door. She knocked first. There was always the chance he wasn’t wearing pants, as he liked to do. Hawke had made the mistake of barging in before.

“It’s me! Are you decent?” Hawke asked, her hand hovering over the door knob.

“I’m better than decent,” Varric said with a laugh, “but yes, you can come in!”

Hawke was quick to make herself at home, sitting on the loveseat with her feet propped up across it. “I needed to talk to you,” Hawke said.

“You always do,” Varric said. He sat in his own chair, that was about twice his size and ridiculously cushy. Hawke was envious of that chair. She wanted to only ever sit in chairs like that. “What in particular brings you here today?”

“I had a new customer yesterday,” Hawke said. “And I might have made a mess of things.”

“Spell gone awry?”

“Thankfully no,” Hawke said. “He’s satisfied with what I gave him...I think. But he didn’t realize that _I_ would be the one weaving the magic. Literally this time. I made a cloak.”

“Invisibility cloak?” Varric guessed.

“And fireproof.”

“Ah, so that’s who came to you,” Varric said. “I’d heard rumors of a phoenix around, but I didn’t believe it until I caught sight of one flying around a few nights. Saw it again last night, actually. Brilliant blue flames. Those are supposed to burn even hotter than the red ones.”

“You’ve seen him in flight?” Hawke said. “That’s got to be...beautiful. But he doesn’t know that I know what he is.”

“Ah, and that caused a problem?”

“No. It’s the fact that I’m a mage. He doesn’t seem to trust me because of it. He actually thought Merrill might have been my _slave_ when I introduced the two of them. I mean, I’ve heard of some awful mages in the past, but to enslave fae?” Hawke crossed her arms. “Whatever his experience with my kind is, it isn’t positive, I know that much.”

“Not all of you mages treat magicals like we’re actually people,” Varric said. “I had this one asshole try to take some of the hairs off my tail once! Had to deck the guy.”

“Now that I would pay to see,” Hawke said.

“He had no idea what hit him. Until I made it clear that it was my fist, and if he didn’t want to experience that again, he’d better reform his ways,” Varric said. “What’s the phoenix’s name?”

“Fenris,” Hawke said.

“Doesn’t that mean...wolf or something?” Varric said.

“Does it?” Hawke said, tilting her head. “I had no idea.”

“Too bad it’s not Anders’ name,” Varric said.

“I think his life has suffered enough pain that he doesn’t need to be named ‘Werewolf McWerewolf.’”

“It would be funny though.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Hawke said. “But I’m getting distracted here. Point is, I invited him to cards Friday night.”

“Fenris?” Varric asked. Hawke nodded. “Good. He could probably use some friends. Phoenixes are more reclusive than unicorns.”

“I know. We’re friends with one,” Hawke said with a smirk. “Problem is, I’m not sure Fenris will come. And he said he might leave.”

“Because of you?”

“That was the implication,” Hawke said.

“But you don’t want him to leave.”

“I don’t.”

A wide, close-lipped smile spread on Varric’s face, eyes crinkling with a gleam of mischief in them. “I see you’ve moved on from pining after that Grim.”

“It just didn’t seem like a great idea to date someone whose entire nature is tied to death, no matter how attractive they are. Or flirtatious,” Hawke said, shrinking lower into her seat.

“There was also the harpy before that. I’m starting to think it’s got something to do with the wings,” Varric said.

“Zevran did not just take the form of a crow. He could appear as a black dog if he wanted to,” Hawke said. “It is not the wings. I haven’t even seen Fenris’. He hides them with his cloak all the time, thus me making one that is flame retardant.”

“What about the invisibility?”

“He’s on the run from someone. Didn’t say who or why. He’s not exactly a chatterbox.”

“Maybe it’s the danger,” Varric mused. “A dangerous mystery man comes into your life and you just have to know more.”

“Stop that,” Hawke said, though she couldn’t hide the amused smile even as she shook her head. “My life is not some novel of yours. I will admit he is attractive but so what? I just came here to tell you that Fenris may or may not come on Friday, so I’d like you to help me by being as welcoming as possible.”

“And putting in a good word about you?” Varric said.

“...maybe,” Hawke said finally, after a moment of trying to think of a clever retort. Failure left her with honesty. “Won’t get the chance if he doesn’t show.”

Varric agreed. Hawke knew by the look in his eye that he was planning to make that happen one way or another. The satyr had connections, and it wouldn’t be the first time Hawke benefitted from them. She would feel less guilty, she decided, if she turned a blind eye to it this time. Varric could do as he pleased, so long as Hawke could plug her ears and pretend she didn’t know about it.

Friday rolled around quicker than Hawke expected. With all the anticipation, she assumed it would feel like an eternity before the week ended. The Hanged Man was packed, but Corff always knew to leave room for the Champion and her friends.

Their usual table, plus a few of extra seats. One was for Karl, who insisted that because he was a ghost, he didn’t really need a chair anyway. They mostly gave it to him to make him feel included. Anders was definitely thankful. The second chair was for Sebastian, who decided to show up after he heard from Varric that there might be a mystery guest. He could disguise himself as a human, but he always had this glow about him. Plus there was the more obvious clue to his true nature; the giant horn on his forehead.

The third chair sat empty. Hawke tried not to glance at the door too often, but still her eyes wandered that way more than she cared to admit. Her friends were kind enough not to tease her about this.

“So, Hawke, I heard you used up all of the thread that I gave you?” Sebastian said.

“Oh, yeah, big project,” Hawke said. “Well worth it though. The cloak has got to be my greatest work yet.”

“I’d love to see it,” Sebastian said.

“Well, you might never get that chance,” Hawke said. Sebastian looked like he was about to attempt to console her, so she quickly jumped in to clarify. “Because it can turn invisible.”

“Sounds magnificent,” Sebastian said.

Only Varric knew that Fenris was a phoenix, and only because he’d guessed it and Hawke hadn’t bothered to deny it. However, everyone knew the story of the cloak. Merrill and Anders had told anyone who Hawke had not. They were also all aware of Hawke’s fledgling crush. Their mocking was tame for now, given how tense Hawke was.

Isabela won three rounds of cards with Varric having won once, and most of them had moved on to their second or third round of drinks. The night was young yet, but it was late enough that Hawke’s anxiety only grew. Isabela shook her head.

“How about I reward you all with a little song?” Isabela said, rising from her seat. She always stood on the table when she was ready to perform for them.

Merrill clapped, bouncing in her chair. “Oh, please do the one about the bird again!”

“Do you never tire of that one?” Isabela said, giggling.

“No,” Merrill said. “Never.”

“I promise I’ll sing that one next, but I already had one in mind,” Isabela said. She spinned in place, to let the candlelight catch the scales that still glittered on her legs and torso in places. Then she stood, hands folded over her chest, closing her eyes to release a bewitching tune.

_Of all the money that e'er I spent_  
I've spent it in good company   
And all the harm that ever I did   
Alas it was to none but me   
And all I've done for want of wit   
To memory now I can't recall   
So fill to me the parting glass   
Goodnight and joy be with you all 

The magic of a mermaid’s voice proved strong, swaying the whole tavern in its grasp. It sounded as if there were other voices singing in harmony with Isabela’s melody. With each new verse, the effect grew, and Hawke was so enraptured she didn’t once glance to the entrance. It took everyone in the room nearly a full minute to realize she’d finished her song.

Isabela cocked her hip to one side, her knuckles pressed to either side. She was looking just past Hawke. “You must be Fenris, then,” Isabela said.

Hawke leapt out of her seat, which made Isabela cackle. _Wicked woman,_ Hawke thought. She turned to see Fenris, just lowering the hood of his cloak to reveal his snowy white mop of hair. Though really, it was less like snow, and more like white ashes. More appropriate for a firebird.

“You’re here,” Hawke said in an exhale.

“Does she always do that?” Fenris asked.

Hawke blinked. “Oh, you mean the...Isabela and the...singing. She does. A lot. Corff lets her because it brings in good tips,” Hawke said. “Would you like to...chair? I mean, _sit._ Would you like to sit?”

“Alright,” Fenris said.

Varric moved over a spot, and patted his palm against the wood of the now empty seat. “Here. Warmed this one up for you,” Varric said.

Hawke swallowed. The satyr’s intent was clear, having moved over just to make sure Fenris would be right next to Hawke. Tactics did not always mean cleverness or stealth were involved.

“Believe me, warmth is not my concern,” Fenris said under his breath. He didn’t remove his cloak, even to sit. Hawke was happy to see that her cleanliness enchantments worked as well, keeping the cloth from picking up dirt or dust even as it swept across the floor. The Hanged Man wasn’t the cleanest establishment in Kirkwall. Actually, it very well could have been the dirtiest.

Corff came over to take Fenris’ order. He asked for a glass of red with a ridiculous Orlesian name. Hawke felt uncultured in comparison, sipping the piss-poor excuse for ale that the Hanged Man served. She drank it with passion as if to prove to someone, anyone, that she was proud of this choice. And nearly choked in the attempt.

Aveline, on Hawke’s right side, slapped her hand on Hawke’s back as she coughed. “Don’t guzzle your drinks, Hawke,” Aveline scolded. Every group needed a mom friend, and she was it.

“Wasn’t trying to,” Hawke wheezed. Whatever impression she was making, hopefully it was still better than what Fenris had thought of her before.

Isabela dealt Fenris in, explaining the rules of the game as he took the cards and created a neat fan with them. He peered over them, examining each face that surrounded him. Hawke couldn’t tear her own eyes away from Fenris. What did he think of the motley crew before him?

“So… Fenris was it?” Anders said. “What’s your story?”


	5. Friends Like These

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [What does this song have to do with anything?](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AzxMXsL56uI) Not a lot, but I like it.

Fenris laid his cards face down on the table. “My story?” he repeated. It was a cautiously invasive question. Hawke squirmed in her seat, still watching Fenris. He pretended not to notice, but it was hard not to feel those bright blue eyes boring a hole in his cheek.

Figuratively, of course. Mages were dangerous, but they didn’t have heat vision. Usually.

“Yeah, you know,” the blonde man said, “your _story_. Where you’re from, why you’re here. You can be as vague or specific as you want.”

“I would first know something about you,” Fenris said. “For a start, your name?”

“Anders,” the blonde man said. “And this is Karl, Merrill, Sebastian, Aveline - you already know Hawke - then Varric, and Isabela.”

Hawke had certainly done an excellent job of attracting all sorts of people to this gathering. Fenris could identify the faerie from earlier, plus a satyr, mermaid, ghost, and even a _unicorn._ If these were really all her friends as she claimed, it was impressive. They seemed to be relaxed around Hawke, which was a start. It could all be a lie, paid for by the mage to convince Fenris into trusting her. Some mages enjoyed the game of the catch, making their prey come willingly to realize they were stuck just moments too late.

The faerie - Merrill - had mentioned something about helping with the cloak. She might not be a slave, but a servant instead. That they were friends, genuine friends, was still too hard for Fenris to believe. The mix of people was so varied, they had to have been picked out for the appearance that they’d naturally gathered like this. Sebastian’s presence threw Fenris the most, but he sat there with cards awkwardly pinched between his fingers, which he was not used to having. Can’t hold cards with hooves, though.

“Now you know us,” Varric said, “at least a little. Tell us something about yourself.”

“You don’t have to,” Hawke said quickly. Fenris stared over at her, feeling ever more curious as she ducked her head down.

“I am from Tevinter,” Fenris said. “Does that sate your curiosity, or would you have me tell you every sordid detail of my previous lives?”

“Lives, _plural_?” Merrill noted.

“Figurative lives,” Fenris said. He had not meant to admit to that, but was quick to think of how to cover it up. “My life now, in Kirkwall, and my life in Tevinter as a slave.” In all, he had actually lived twelve full cycles of life, and was now on his thirteenth.

“You were a slave?” Isabela said, eyebrows raised.

“Yes. My master was a mage who treated me as his prized pet. It was he who gave me these enchanted markings,” Fenris said.

“The designs…” Hawke said, “I don’t recognize them.” Not that she was even able to see most of them. Fenris kept his cloak close as her eyes trailed over his arms, the white lines clearly visible on his dark skin.

“They are his, and his attempts to recapture me have proven he wants them back,” Fenris said.

“He’s who you’re hiding from,” Hawke said.

“I thought you came here to play cards and drink?” Fenris said. “Not ask about people’s depressing life stories.”

“We multi-task,” Anders quipped.

Still, at Fenris’ complaint, Hawke forced them to move along and play their card game. For the rest of the night, they didn’t ask any more personal questions. They asked _strange_ questions, invasive in other senses, but nothing more about his past. Fenris found he actually enjoyed the company. It was...pleasant. He’d spoken more in the short time he’d known Hawke than he had these last few years in Kirkwall.

It was becoming easier as the night passed on to believe Hawke was genuinely friends with all of these people. They certainly acted like they liked one another, laughing and cracking awful jokes. Fenris felt something of a hole inside of him. He was actually beginning to grow jealous of just how close these strangers were.

The end of the night came too quickly. Fenris had stayed the whole time, even as Aveline and Sebastian left. Even after Anders and Karl left. Even when Merrill started to doze off and Isabela promised to get her home safely. Just Varric, Hawke, and Fenris himself remained seated at the table, all varying levels of tipsy with varying levels of luck from the night’s game.

“I suppose I should leave, then,” Fenris said, gathering himself. No need to stay if the fun had ended.

“Hold on there,” Varric said. “We should probably address the elephant in the room.”

“What elephant?” Hawke said, tilting her head.

Varric sighed. “It would be best if we were honest with you, Fenris. If this is going to work and we’re really going to be friends, you’ll need to trust us. Even if we know what you are.”

Fenris did not flinch. He gave no indication that he was nervous or startled. Many, many years with Danarius had trained him not to react. “And what am I?” Fenris asked.

“A fire bird. A phoenix,” Varric said, just loud enough that Fenris and Hawke could hear. The Hanged Man was mostly cleared out, but a few customers remained, and it wouldn’t do to blow his secret to all of Kirkwall.

Fenris failed to contain himself this time. His markings flashed, flames sprouting from his fingers. When he opened his mouth to speak, more fire came out in wisps. “How did you find out?”

“Fireproof is a unique request,” Varric said. “I’m more interested in knowing how Hawke knew, since she never actually told me that bit.”

Hawke threw her hands up defensively. “It’s auras and energies and stuff. And yeah, the um...requests you made fit the general profile of elusive fire birds. I just...put two and two together, really. I’ve not told anyone though, and Varric guessed all on his own.”

“If you know what I am, you know that I am useful to you,” Fenris hissed. “Do you intend to blackmail me with this knowledge to get more out of me? Or would you rather hand me over to the black market now?”

“Maker, no! Nothing of the sort!” Hawke said. “I made you that cloak because I want you to stay safe and hidden. I’m not about to sell you for a quick bit of coin. You’re a person. And people deserve to live free. I didn’t mention that I knew because I figured you wouldn’t like it.”

“Listen, Broody,” Varric said, the nickname confusing Fenris, “Hawke and I want to help you. Living alone in Kirkwall seems like a good idea, considering the number of assholes that live here, but trust me. Without backup in this shitpit we call a city, people will eat you alive. You’ve already drawn attention with those late night flights. I can’t even begin to imagine how you’ve survived alone for this long.”

Fenris grimaced. Someone like Varric, who always had that intelligent glint in his eye like he knew something you didn’t, was not unimaginative. Varric must have gathered that behind Fenris lay a trail of blood that kept him alive today. It was easy enough to make people disappear in Kirkwall without anyone batting an eye, if you knew what you were doing. Fenris didn’t need enchantments to turn a body invisible.

But something else caught his attention. “Why do you want to help me? You don’t know me or anything about me. Getting involved in my life is inadvisable.”

“We’re not very good at listening to advice,” Varric said, with a grin. He had his elbow propped up on the table with his chin resting in his palm, leaning towards Fenris. “And we know enough, for now.”

“What Varric means is, you don’t need to tell us any more than you want to,” Hawke said, pointedly glaring at the satyr. Her look had a _we talked about this_ vibe.

“Precisely,” Varric said.

“Fenris I…” Hawke paused, pushing a piece of hair behind her ear. “ _We_ know how hard it can be to live in this city alone. Or anywhere alone, for that matter. I understand if you don’t trust me, but the others are dear friends. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.”

“By ‘them’ she means Anders, mostly,” Varric said.

“I mean all of you,” Hawke insisted.

“Uh-huh,” Varric said, unconvinced. “Anders just closed the gaping hole in your stomach.”

Fenris gave Hawke a quizzical look, and she sighed. “One of the details of the fight with the minotaur people don’t like to mention,” Hawke clarified. “I think I mentioned the scar.”

“Not the Healer’s best job, admittedly,” Varric said. “Oh, and you should know that Hawke isn’t the only mage.”

“Anders really only works healing magic,” Hawke said quickly.

That wasn’t comforting. Mages who used their talents to heal were more likely to seek a phoenix for their curative properties. Anders would need to be watched if Fenris planned to stay. What surprised Fenris was that he was actually considering it. Hawke was strange and still a mage, but didn’t seem to pose any real threat. Not so far.

“I will...think on this,” Fenris said at last, standing. He held his cloak as close to his body as possible, wrapped comfortably within the fabric. The inside was particularly soft, and never pulled at his wings. If Hawke had known he was a phoenix, she must have thought to accommodate for that. She was nothing if not thorough.

“A-alright,” Hawke said, rising from her seat as well. “You know where to find me, and Varric is always here. I’d recommend knocking if you choose to visit him, though.” There was a story behind that; Fenris could tell. “Aveline tends to be around the barracks and Merrill lives in the fae gardens. The rest of us can be...difficult to locate. But they still show up every Friday night. Just um...I guess...don’t be a stranger?” She smiled awkwardly at him, her cheek twitching at the effort and her eyes not crinkling like they would with a genuine smile.

“Just let us know if you need anything,” Varric said.

“I will,” Fenris said. “And...thank you. For the cloak and for tonight. It was...nice.”

“You’re welcome,” Hawke said. “I should, uh, get back home. Goodnight!”

She practically scurried away. She was odd for a mage. Actually, Hawke was odd for an _anything_ , and for some reason Fenris found this charming. He lifted his hood to keep the satyr from noticing the slight curl of his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hawke needs to take a lesson from Tyra Banks and learn how to smise.


	6. 100 "Ornamental Mats"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should know the drill by now. [Here’s the music, listen only if you want to.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_neQl4LgKKI)

“I’m sorry, you need me to make _what_ for you?” Hawke asked.

“I need one hundred floating doilies that would be strong enough to hold up a piece of sponge cake. A small piece each, but it needs not to spill. If you can’t do it—”

“No, no, I can do that,” Hawke said. There was a word for what she felt right now. Something with an “F,” but it wasn’t coming to her. She was too much _that word_ to think of it at the moment. “I was just not sure why anyone would want that.”

“I have a party with some very exclusive guests coming over, and they expect something impressive. My husband suggested floating candles, but that would just end up setting the house on fire, I’m quite certain,” the customer said.

“And it would drip wax on people’s heads,” Hawke added.

“My point exactly.”

“But...doilies? Not just a spell for some floating orbs of light? Same idea as the candles but less destructive.”

“Oh but _everyone_ does floating lights,” the customer said with a sigh, adjusting their vest. “But have you ever seen cakes floating on doilies?”

“I have not.”

“My point…” they paused for dramatics, “...exactly.”

_Flabbergasted._ That was the word!

“Alright well, let’s see,” Hawke said, waving her finger in the air and drawing up the numbers. She could just as easily do this on a piece of parchment, but doing glowy writing magic in midair impressed people and made them more likely not to argue much over her prices. It was another one of Varric’s ideas, but one that had proven to be entirely true. “So that’s the cost of the load-bearing enchantment, plus the levitation enchantment, then multiply that by 100… Do you have a preference for the color of the ink?”

“Something bright. Perhaps a yellow?”

Hawke nodded. That was doable, and not terribly pricey ink. “And I assume you already have the...doilies?” The image in her head was still ridiculous, but the rich did enjoy their oddities.

“Yes. I can have my servants bring them over as soon as we’ve agreed on the price,” the customer said.

_Okay, then that’s...carry the one and...alright!_ “That should come to 200 sovereigns even. But, I’m willing to offer a discount that brings it down by fifty sovereigns.”

“Maker’s breath! Isn’t that a bit high?”

“It’s a lot of enchanting, all hand-written. And my designs are always original work. No other mage will be able to give you the specifics you’re looking for. Not one in Kirkwall, anyway,” Hawke said. And not that the customer needed to know, but the discount was a farce, too. It was actually more around 136 sovereigns, but she’d bumped it up then cut it down, to make it look like a bargain. It was just business.

“Alright, I’ll pay the 150, but I’d like you to make an appearance at the party as well. It would be the talk of the town if the Champion herself showed up at _my_ event. Plus my husband just adores the stories about you,” the customer said.

“Only if I can bring a few friends of mine,” Hawke said. She hated going to those things alone. They either were horribly dull or suffocating, which made having someone she knew to work as a buffer quite useful.

“I’ll send a few extra doilies for them,” the customer said, “and throw in ten extra sovereigns.”

Hawke waved her hand, erasing the numbers still glowing in front of her face. “Then it’s a deal. Pleasure doing business with you.”

They shook hands and the customer left. Hawke exhaled, and shuffled to her drafting table. How heavy would a piece of sponge cake be, exactly?

☀☀☀☀☀

“It’s tomorrow night and it’s fancy dress, but I could easily cast some illusions or charms to make you seem like you’re fancy, but you’ll secretly be breaking the dress code like some kind of heathen,” Hawke said with a grin. “At least come for the food. I got five invites...possibly four. I don’t know if she meant one of the extra five doilies for me or for my guests.”

Isabela snickered.

“I can’t even eat cake, so I wouldn’t need a doily,” Karl said.

Another giggle from Isabela.

“What’s so funny?” Hawke asked.

“The word _doily_ ,” Isabela said, still on the verge of cracking up as she spoke. “It just sounds so ridiculous!”

“Well _I_ didn’t name the damned things!” Hawke insisted, crossing her arms. Her look of frustration only made Isabela laugh more.

“Oh, darling, I didn’t mean to insult you. I know how hard you worked this week, without even the slightest sighting of ‘you-know-who,’” Isabela said.

“That has nothing to do with anything.”

“Sure, Hawke,” Varric said. “It must have been that secret twin of yours that kept badgering me every day to see if he’d stopped by.”

“I was just concerned,” Hawke said. “We haven’t seen him. What if he left? Or something bad happened?”

“Didn’t we make him a cloak to turn him invisible?” Merrill pointed out. “Maybe he was just hiding.”

Hawke didn’t much like the idea of that either, though it was likely, and better than her other nervous assumptions. A whole week and Fenris hadn’t spoken to any of them. None of them had even spotted him out in town. Even though he seemed open to their offer of friendship, he’d still disappeared completely. Hawke had thought Fenris would at least go to see Varric.

“If Fenris _does_ show himself before tomorrow night, you should take him to that party of yours,” Isabela said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m giving up my invite. No way I’m missing out on some exclusive Hightown soiree.”

“Just keep in mind, they will mostly be non-magicals. Possibly all of them will be plain old humans,” Hawke said. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that,” she added with a glance towards Aveline.

“It’s alright, Hawke. I know what you meant. Showing that the Champion is friends with a number of magicals might cause a fuss, though. I’d be cautious about who you take,” Aveline said.

“You talking about me, big girl?” Isabela said with a wicked smile.

“You aren’t the only one who might cause trouble,” Aveline said. “But yes, I was referring to you.”

“I can’t go,” Anders said suddenly.

“It’s not a full moon night, is it?” Hawke asked.

“No,” Anders said, “but it is a night after the full moon night. I’ll be...recovering.”

“Then I won’t go either,” Karl said.

“Karl, no. You don’t need to do that on my account,” Anders said.

“I don’t think I could hide my spectral nature, anyway, and Aveline does have a point,” Karl said.

“Oh, unicorn shit!” Isabela declared, smacking the table with the flat of her palm. “What is the point of the most respected mage in Kirkwall palling around with us undesirables if she won’t rub some noses in it?”

“I happen to like you as _people_ , not as political statements,” Hawke said. “But either way, I am not hiding you out like I don’t want to be seen with you. If you are coming, you are going to be loud and proud and magical!”

“Here, here!” Isabela said, raising her mug.

“Now I feel obligated to go,” Aveline groaned. “At least to keep the slattern out of trouble.”

“Impossible. Nothing can stop me!” Isabela said.

“You know you responded to slattern just now,” Hawke said.

Isabela shrugged. “I’ve responded to worse.”

“I assume you’re coming, Varric?” Hawke said.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Varric said. “Which leaves Daisy and Sparkles.”

“I wouldn’t expect Seb to want to come to something like this. But Merrill, you are absolutely welcome to come,” Hawke said.

“Ooh, a party! I love parties. Will they have that spicy drink again?” Merrill asked.

“The spiced rum? I doubt it. Not the season for it and this is more the ‘fancy singing champagne’ kind of party,” Hawke said.

“That means you have four people,” Isabela said in a sing-song voice. “That fifth— _snerk_ —doily can go to Fenris.”

“If I ever see him again,” Hawke said, resting her chin in her hands. She still had the feathers, if she chose to do another locater spell. However, Hawke was insistent that if she was to see Fenris again, he’d have to come to them. They couldn’t force him to be their friend. That defeated the whole purpose of friendship.

Still, waiting was frustrating. So Hawke drank, and drank a _lot_ that night. Aveline was gracious enough to carry her home. Merrill shrank down and accompanied them, promising to look after Hawke until morning. Chances were she’d awake with a headache, and that wasn’t fun to face alone. A bit of fairy dust in her tea might help, though.

☀☀☀☀☀

Hawke was on doily number thirty-seven when there was a knock at the door. She couldn’t put down her brush just yet, painting the fine yellow ink onto the white fabric. “Just a minute!” she called. There was a chance the person at the door wouldn’t hear her from within her room where she was working, but at least Hawke could say she’d tried.

When the knock came again, she rushed the last bit, save for the small mark that would activate it when needed. For now it was a doily in stasis. Hawke giggled, because Isabela was absolutely right, and that word was ridiculous.

Hawke rushed across to the door, swinging it open to find...no one. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” she grumbled. “Damn kids think they’re so—!”

Fenris lowered his hood, appearing in front of her.

“...funny.”

“Hello, Hawke,” Fenris said, an amused smirk on his face. “Have you aged significantly since we last met?”

“What?”

“‘Damn kids?’”

“I...oh,” Hawke said, a flush dancing across her cheeks. “That was a joke. You made a joke?”

“It’s alarming, yes, but it’s been known to happen,” Fenris said. His smile faltered. “May I come in?”

Hawke stepped back, mumbling something affirmative, and gesturing to usher him inside. Fenris walked past her before she closed the door. Folding her hands, she brought them close to her chest as she cleared her throat.

“Can I get you something? Tea? A chair?” Hawke asked.

“No, but...thank you,” Fenris said. “I just stopped in with the satyr.”

“Varric?”

“Yes,” Fenris said, then paused as he considered something. “Do you know any other satyrs?”

“There’s his brother, Bartrand. But he’s not so much part goat as he is just an ass,” Hawke said, snorting. When she got no response she added, “You know, cause ass like donkey?”

“I got it,” Fenris said, though the smirk just barely returned. “He told me that I should visit with you, as well. Apparently you have something to tell me?”

Hawke wished he had asked for something. Then at least she could do something with her hands other than wringing them over and over. “Yes. There’s this party that I’ve been invited to, I’m also helping with some enchantments for them. Big, fancy Hightown shindig. They like to get showy. Part of my payment was five extra doil— invitations.” She couldn’t say _doilies_ in front of Fenris and keep a straight face. “I’m already bringing Varric, Isabela, Merrill, and Aveline, which leaves me with one more invitation. And I was thinking...maybe you’d like to go?”

Fenris did not react too visibly, but Hawke could sense his discomfort. It wasn’t a magic thing, just a bit of empathy. There were a great number of reasons that Fenris would not want to go to a large, high-class party. Hawke could hazard a guess as to why, but that hardly mattered at the end of the day.

“You don’t need to come, of course,” Hawke said. “Merrill could always bring Tamlen or Isabela could find Zevran. Though...the latter could be a bad idea. Not that Tamlen would be a great one.”

“Would I have to wear anything specific?” Fenris said.

“It is fancy dress, but I usually just cast illusions over everyone to make them look like they’re wearing something expensive. Makes things easier for the ones who can’t afford it,” Hawke said. “You can still wear your cloak, of course. Or I could figure something else out to conceal…”

“What do you have in mind?” Fenris asked.

“Well…” Hawke began, then held up a finger. “Just a moment.” She ran back to her room, and when she was back, she’d produced a nice—though somewhat ragged—suit jacket. “We could just remove a section of the back, put some illusions over it to make your folded wings look like part of the fabric. Or tuck them underneath, if that wouldn’t hurt. A little quick enchantment to make sure it doesn’t catch fire for the night and no one would ever know.” Hawke then lowered the jacket. “Or if you’d prefer, just staying invisible for most of the night would work.”

Fenris held out a hand. “Let me see that,” he said. Hawke handed over the jacket, but when Fenris noticed her hesitation he said, “I can control my flames. It won’t burn.”

“Right, of course.”

He studied it, examining the back and running over it with the tips of his fingers. Hawke watched patiently, twiddling her thumbs as Fenris turned it around. Then, with the jacket draped over one arm, Fenris started to remove his cloak.

Hawke’s eyes popped open wide as he let it slide to the floor. Fenris didn’t turn around, but she could see his wings as he stretched them. The feathers were blazing oranges and reds, with the outermost tips tinting to a bright blue. They sparked with life as they unfolded. They weren’t large enough for him to fly in this form, but they still looked to be at least as long as his arms.

Hawke was staring. Hawke felt rude, but she just couldn’t stop her eyes from fixing on him. Fenris didn’t seem to mind, as he simply folded them again and started to slide one arm through the jacket to see if it would fit over his back even with the wings there. He adjusted it, and it did seem a little snug, but not so much for it to hurt.

Finally, Fenris looked up, and Hawke started to stammer, “It, uh, you...it feels...it isn’t…y-you like it?”

Fenris quirked a brow. “This should suffice. I’ve nothing else to wear that would be appropriate for such an event,” he said, starting to slide the jacket back off to hand to her.

“You mean you’ll come?”

“I could think of worse things to do with an evening.”

“Excellent!” Hawke said, clapping her hands. She reached out and took the jacket back from him. “I’ll give this a really basic enchantment so you can’t possibly set it on fire, by accident or not. Just in case. And an illusion for the rest will work, so don’t worry about that.”

Fenris lifted the cloak up off the floor as she spoke, wrapping it tight around his body again. “So when is it?”

“Friday. We’re all meeting at my house first, just a little bit after sundown,” Hawke said. “And if it gets really boring or weird, we can always just leave early and head to the Hanged Man for another game of Wicked Grace.”

Fenris nodded. “I suppose I will just...see you then,” he said. “Was that everything you wished to tell me?”

“That was basically it, yeah,” Hawke said. “I mean, you could stay and chat if you’d like to. Company is always nice when I’m working.”

“Perhaps another time,” Fenris said. He started to turn towards the door, but stopped. “Tomorrow night?”

“That would be fine. Wonderful, even!” Hawke said. It was hard to tell what sounded enthusiastic and what seemed overeager. At least overeager would sound better than complete disinterest. Or at least, that was Hawke’s theory.

Fenris promised to stop by, without specifying a time. Hawke didn’t mind. That he would spend time with her at all was already something. And he’d agreed to go to the party.

Forget enchanting doilies! Hawke now had a wonderful thought to distract her. She drew out her sketchbook, where she kept ideas for spells and runes and all manner of magic, and found a clean page. With a stick of charcoal in hand, Hawke sketched out some thoughts she had for a dress. It would be an illusion, but she wanted it to look perfect nevertheless. If there were ever a night for her to feel more like she were nobility, the night of the party would have to be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made the break suns for this instead of diamonds because fire. I wanted to find a feather symbol, but there’s no such thing in unicode, unfortunately.
> 
> The title is based on the wikipedia article for doilies. I said doilies way too much.


	7. Things Change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the song!  
> And another one for the second section! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> (EDIT: I noticed my links were broken, so here's the full urls. Sorry!)  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uS1TuvPQnFA  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h2XLLXwkLAc

It was rare that Fenris enjoyed himself this much, but watching Hawke fuss over doily number fifty-three and crack bad jokes was proving to be—dare he think it—fun. She’d even gotten a bottle of wine for them to share, which they were already halfway through.

Hawke was already regaling him with tales of her youth, as well as a few stories of the trouble she’d gotten into since coming to Kirkwall.

She’d come only a couple of years before him, moving to escape a plague that swept across her home country. She was Fereldan, which Fenris believed explained a number of her mannerisms. They were far more friendly to magicals there than most other parts of the world. That’s not to say it was ideal, but Hawke’s open-mindedness made it so coming to the Free Marches gave her a bit of culture shock.

Thankfully, she hadn’t been alone. Hawke had been with her brother, sister, and mother upon arrival. Her father had died just a year or so before the plague began.

“I’m...sorry for your loss,” Fenris said. It seemed appropriate to do so. Still, saying it was awkward when he didn’t know her that well, yet. _Yet?_

“Oh, it’s alright. It’s been years now,” Hawke said, though she looked down to the fabric pinched between her fingers. “I miss him sometimes, but it’s easier to deal with. I know if he were here, he’d want me to move on with my life and help people like he used to. That’s part of why I started this whole...thing.” Hawke waved a hand in the air, gesturing to the space all around her.

“He would be proud,” Fenris said.

“I think so, too,” Hawke said, lifting her gaze to show a soft smile. “What about your family?”

Fenris turned his head. “I...have no memories of my family,” he said.

“You don’t remember? Does that have something to do with the multiple lives?” Hawke asked.

“As far as I am aware, that should not affect my mind. I should retain all my previous lives, from the moment of my rebirth to the moment of my death. No, this is because of Danarius. I’m sure of it.”

“Hmm,” Hawke hummed. She put her work materials down on her desk, then folded her hands together. “I could—if you wanted me to—whip up a spell that could restore some of your memories. Without knowing the exact cause, it would be difficult, but I’m sure I—”

“No,” Fenris said darkly.

Hawke straightened up. “Are you sure?”

Fenris stood, quaking with rage. “Yes, I’m sure! Magic is what took my memories, you expect me to trust that it could bring them back just as easily?”

It was clear by her face that Hawke was desperate to clear up the misunderstanding, but it was impossible. Fenris _knew_ she’d meant no harm in her offer. He wouldn’t admit it to himself for the moment, however.

The fury brought crackling flames to his hands and sent them crawling up his neck. He found a sick sort of pleasure in the heat of them. These were not flames that were meant to heal. This was the fire he’d watched swallow men whole until they remained as nothing but charred corpses. Danarius laughed whenever he watched Fenris burning someone to death, telling Fenris that it looked as if the dying man was dancing.

“I’m sorry, Fenris, I didn’t think…” Hawke said.

Even though she must have been able to see him surrounded by flames, Hawke came closer, unafraid. Fenris only snarled, willing the fire bigger, brighter. His markings flared. Still she did not recoil.

“I won’t do it,” Hawke said. “I swear, no magic of mine touches you unless you ask it of me. I never want to hurt you or scare you…”

 _Scare me?_ Was that what she saw in him? Fear?

Fenris let his fire die down, the smallest plumes of smoke rising from his skin as they extinguished. He looked down at his feet to see a charred spot around them.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke said again, her voice quiet.

“As am I,” Fenris said, “for your floor.”

Hawke blinked, then looked at his feet. “Oh,” she said. “That’s...not a problem. This house has seen worse.”

Fenris would have to be rid of the clothes beneath his cloak now. They were singed from his outburst, too badly to repair this time. Many times he just threw on a patch to cover the worst of the damage, but these were as good as rags, now. If only everything he wore would never burn.

But Fenris didn’t want that, either, to be honest. Too much reliance on magic. He wanted desperately for this friendship to work, but so long as Hawke had magic, there was an automatic tension between them.

Even that was only one-sided. Hawke had walked up to him while he burned his brightest, unafraid of Fenris or his flames. Was it trust or naivety? It could have just as easily been both.

“I should leave,” Fenris said.

“You don’t have to,” Hawke said.

Fenris just shook his head. “I will return on Friday. Goodnight, Hawke.”

He made himself invisible before he even reached the door. It was nice being able to so easily dictate when he was seen or unseen. It made running easier. That _was_ what he was doing now, wasn’t it? Fenris could have stayed, made up with Hawke, but instead he simply left. He’d gotten so used to doing exactly that, even now that he could think of a few reasons to stay.

Fenris found his home again, and immediately fell onto his bed. He would remain with these thoughts no longer than he had to. Sleep would take all those things until morning drew them back. With luck, even his pesky dreams would give him peace. No nightmares, no dreams from stress that made him wake up with a flash of fire.

☀☀☀☀☀

Tonight was a full moon, which meant non-magicals were particularly skittish and eager to get home to locked doors. Fenris spent these nights in bird form, perching places high up enough to be out of a werewolf’s reach, but with a good view of the chaos. It was fun to watch, in a strange way, but that wasn’t the only reason he’d gotten into this habit.

If Fenris happened to spot a werewolf that had gotten overeager or too lost in the transformation, he focused his full attention on that wolf. He’d stopped a few attacks over the years, usually from younger and inexperienced members of the Kirkwall pack. Sometimes he even found people that were not yet aware they _had_ a pack to call their own.

A few times, he’d save someone who would reward him for the service. That kept up the habit, even if it hadn’t been his reason for starting. Phoenixes were meant to heal, to bring good to the world. Fenris was trying to rediscover that purpose.

Tonight, his eyes trailed to one werewolf in particular. He found it odd that he’d never noticed before, but this wolf had a ghost that followed him wherever he went. The spirit wasn’t vengeful, as if the wolf had killed him, but he was...loving. He guided the werewolf away from dangerous places or more vicious members of the Kirkwall pack.

This wolf seemed to be a loner, besides his spectral companion. There were a few who preferred that, consciously or not. This werewolf _seemed_ fairly aware, for the most part.

Fenris flew in closer to get a better look, then blinked as recognition set in. The wolf he couldn’t place, but the spirit was familiar. He couldn’t put a name to the face, but another name did come up. Hawke. One of her friends.

Fenris found a quiet and dark place to shift into his human form, the cloak billowing out as he took shape. It seemed compliant with his transformations, which made traveling easier. Communicating was also far easier as a human, but that wasn’t his only reason for the change. The spirit friend of Hawke’s still wasn’t aware of his true nature, and Fenris was determined to keep it that way as long as he could.

He tracked them from a fair distance for a while, waiting for a moment where it seemed safer to approach. It occurred to Fenris that he had no clear reason for doing this, attempting to speak with the spirit, other than sheer curiosity. Normally that was something to avoid, but there he was following a ghost and his wolf.

Finally, the werewolf settled, dozing by a fountain in the main square, upsetting a naiad who had made her home there. The spirit busied himself with apologies, while Fenris approached, invisible. Yet, when he was close enough, the wolf raised its nose into the air and sniffed before growling.

The spirit turned his head, and Fenris allowed himself to be seen, keeping a hand out in hopes that this would keep the wolf at bay. The spirit’s eyes widened, and he moved to calm the beast.

“You’re...Fenris, aren’t you?” the spirit said.

“Yes,” Fenris answered, lowering his hand as the werewolf started to doze off again. “You’re Hawke’s friend.”

“Yes! Glad to see you remembered me,” the spirit said. He glowed a little brighter. “My name is Karl, in case you’ve forgotten.”

The naiad behind him huffed, splashing water on the werewolf. The wolf didn’t seem too bothered by this, however, as he simply stood and shook off his fur. The naiad recoiled as the stench of wet dog rose into the air. Karl laughed as she disappeared into the far side of the fountain. The werewolf had gotten his revenge just by acting in his nature.

“Who is he?” Fenris asked. Karl rose a brow, then noticed Fenris gesturing down at the wolf, who had rolled onto his side.

Karl sighed. “You know I can’t actually pet you, right?” he mumbled to the werewolf. Then he looked back at Fenris. “You met him, too. He was just less...furry, then. Anders.”

Fenris stiffened, then forced himself to relax. That wasn’t a polite reaction in any company. “I thought that Hawke said he was another mage?” Fenris said.

Karl chuckled. “I know! I tell him he’s an overachiever, trying to be doubly magical. Of course it’s...not his fault.”

Fenris skirted around the sleepy wolf, then sat on the edge of the fountain beside the place where Karl was floating. “How did it happen?” he asked.

Karl was silent for a moment. Not exactly a smalltalk sort of subject, or even something that the werewolf/mage would be comfortable sharing with near strangers. Fenris was about to retract the question when Karl started to speak.

“Anders was friends with another werewolf, once. The guy was starting to lose his humanity entirely, becoming more like the wolf than the man every day. So Anders was trying to cure him. Or if not get rid of the wolf entirely, he wanted to calm it to give his friend more control. Certain personalities just can’t quite handle the animal nature. Anders says its a little harder for non-magicals, but I don’t know that that’s entirely true.”

“What happened to this friend?” Fenris said.

“Well, one day Anders ran a test, and it… He panicked. Something went wrong and he transformed when it wasn’t even a full moon. Anders was bitten in the process, and then he was forced to…” Karl’s form rippled, his sadness manifesting through his spectral self. “Anders had to kill his friend to save himself. He still blames himself for what happened. Sometimes he even says he was a monster before the beast.”

Fenris grimaced. “He should not have played with magic he didn’t understand. That is the mage’s folly, every time.”

Karl didn’t seem to disagree, though his form warped more roughly. He watched Anders’ leg kick in the air. Anders was dreaming of something. Karl floated down and appeared to rest on top of the werewolf, though Fenris knew he was simply hovering.

“He knows,” Karl said quietly. “He knows and he hates himself for it every day. But the mistake has already been made. Shaming him for it now is pointless.” He rose his eyes to meet Fenris’ gaze. “Anders won’t do anything like that again. Not even if he could cure himself.”

There was silence for a full minute before Karl’s brightness returned. He was more solid, as he had been before. Something in his thoughts had cheered him. Fenris cocked his head to the side, studying the spirit.

“Hawke has helped Anders so much,” Karl said. “More than I think I ever could. She reminded him of how magic helps people. She even helped him come to terms with the transformations. I look after him every time anyway, but I think her encouragement brought him peace.”

Fenris nodded. “Hawke seems like a good person,” he said, but after a pause he thought to add, “...for a mage.”

For some reason, that made Karl laugh. “She’s more than that, but yes. Her sister was like that as well, when she was still in Kirkwall. A friend to the magicals, never betraying their trust. Hawke risks more than most people realize by keeping that up.”

Fenris didn’t need to ask what he meant by that. He’d seen Danarius go up against rival mages who refused to take more than they were offered willingly. He’d seen those mages die. There were also those who became too close to magicals, keeping them as friends or even lovers, which made humans distrust the mage’s intentions. There were reasons for mages to choose solitude.

“One day that may change,” Fenris said.

“You may think that now, but trust me,” Karl said, floating back up, “it won’t.”

Fenris bid the spirit goodnight, wishing him luck on his watch. Anders, still in wolf form, snorted as Fenris left them. It was a sort of goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anders angst ahoy! Obviously his werewolf friend that died is sort of Justice, though the impact it left on him is different. Though he’s still “of two minds” in a sense.
> 
> Next chapter we get to parrrr-tay!!!


	8. Cinderella

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Note: html for links seems to be not working for right now, so I'm just going to post the full urls.) The whole album that this song is on is really worth a listen, but this track stuck out to me for some reason. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_htv1PAjpHs
> 
> And here’s the song for the dance because you know I can’t have them go to a party together and _not_ dance. Also can I just say hammer dulcimers are super pretty and I wish I knew how to play them? https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sMD9tL_QbpY
> 
> This chapter got much longer than I usually do for these. Oh well?

Hawke couldn’t stop turning herself this way and that, delighting in the _swish_ of fabric from her skirt. She’d settled on a deep red color, like wine, but let it release tiny explosions of sparkles whenever she spun. A mage simply had to have something a little showy. Well worth the mana she expended on it, too, after all the hand cramps she endured from her work.

Karl had checked in with her that morning, much to her surprise, and told her of his brief encounter with the elusive Fenris. Apparently it resulted in a pleasant chat about Anders’ past. Not what Hawke would think to call “pleasant,” but Karl clarified.

_“I meant to say that he was rather polite about the whole thing,” Karl said. “His mannerisms, anyway. Some of what he had to say was rather...blunt.”_

_“I see,” Hawke said, still processing. “Anders wasn’t upset that you told someone about him, was he?”_

_“He hasn’t woken up yet,” Karl said, inclining his head._

_“Ah,” Hawke said. “Good luck with that one.”_

_“Would you mind if I used you as an excuse? He has a better temperament when it’s a favor for you,” Karl said. “Fenris is your…_ thing _, after all.”_

_“What does that mean?” Hawke said, her cheeks coloring._

_“I’m pretty sure you already know the answer to that one.”_

_Hawke sighed and waved her hand. It was just too early for this. “Fine, fine. Tell him you were just doing what you could to help me because I am apparently very pathetic and useless when I have a crush on someone.”_

She’d been insulted that he didn’t even pretend to disagree. But now she thought of happier things, of dancing and eating floating sponge cake. Or at least eating sponge cake off of a floating doily. Which she had also been sure to deliver earlier that day.

Now she was waiting around with Varric, Isabela, Aveline, and Merrill. Merrill and Aveline had come prepared, the former in the cutest little poofy dress that looked like it was made of flower petals (and it probably was). Meanwhile, Aveline was in a formal uniform, which Hawke decided suited her better than any dress could.

For Varric and Isabela, Hawke had worked her magic. Varric now appeared to be wearing a classy suit, just minus the unnecessary shoes and plus a little hole for his tail. He grumbled something about censorship when Hawke said it was probably best _not_ to be showing off his hairy chest, this time.

Isabela had a long, slinky number with a slit up one side that revealed nearly her entire leg. She claimed to need it for “movement,” but couldn’t come up with any actual excuse for the plunging v-shaped neckline in the front. The best she could do was “It shows off my tits,” which was at least honest.

“Just swear to me you won’t try to seduce anyone for the purposes of eating them,” Hawke said.

“And for the purposes of ‘eating’ them?” Isabela said with a wicked grin.

“That one is what I’m here for,” Aveline said, a cool glare aimed at the mermaid.

“Oh why you two are just zero fun,” Isabela complained, crossing her arms and thrusting out her chest.

“I personally don’t mind it as long as the person isn’t married, this time,” Hawke told Isabela, making her voice low in the hopes that Aveline wouldn’t hear.

“Probably better if she simply doesn’t seduce anyone, Hawke,” Aveline said.

_Drat._

It was starting to get late, and Hawke worried that they were pushing the limits of fashionably late a bit too much, now. But Fenris still hadn’t showed.

“He hates me,” Hawke lamented. “I am an insensitive idiot and he hates me now.”

Varric clapped a hand on her back. “Don’t be so mopey. I’m sure he’s just adjusting his feathers or something.”

“Feathers?” Merrill said. “Fenris has feathers? Where?!”

Hawke gave Varric a look that said, _Nice going, wise guy._ Varric returned it with a shrug that said, _Oops._

“I told Varric that he had feathers on the coat I gave him for tonight. Apparently Varric didn’t catch that I was lying through my teeth,” Hawke said, a quick recovery.

“Or maybe I was just _really hoping_ he’d show up looking like a peacock ready to strut so I could compliment him on his plumage,” Varric countered.

“Right. Of course,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes. Varric fell into a friendly chat with Merrill about feathers on clothing, and how they would probably look ridiculous on most people, despite knowing that Anders seemed to pull them off somehow. That veered into the subject of how and where he even got those feathers, at which point Hawke tuned out and meandered towards the door.

Her house, right after sundown. That was what they agreed on, wasn’t it? Maybe he was just caught up with something. Maybe he’d gotten mixed up, went to the Hanged Man or thought he was supposed to come by later. Hawke didn’t believe a single excuse she gave herself for the sake of hope.

She grabbed her skirts and pulled them slowly, front then back, to watch them sweep around the floor in a magic shimmer. For all the time she’d spent fussing over the cut and the color, now she just felt overdressed and silly, even for a party. Better to be in her mage gear to perform tricks.

A knock at the door had Hawke at something near a sprint. She might have actually gotten to one, were the room not small as it was. She paused to appear more collected and pulled it open. The thing she couldn’t help was the grin on her face.

“Fenris!” she said.

“Yes,” he said.

Hawke stood in silence, her brain processing through all the things one was supposed to do when someone showed up at the front door. “Uh. Come...in?”

Fenris raised a brow, but stepped inside. He still had his cloak on, but she could see the jacket underneath. More impressive was the pair of nice pants he wore. No need for any glamours or illusions, there. Probably a good thing, considering his stance on magic.

Fenris looked about him at all the others. Hawke tried not to notice his eyes lingering on Isabela’s cleavage, but of course they did. Merrill waved at him excitedly, her wings fluttering as she scurried forward to greet him.

“Hello, Fenris! Glad you could make it!” she said.

“Yes,” he said. “I apologize for being tardy.”

“Not to worry,” Hawke said quickly. “We weren’t waiting too long. We hardly even noticed!”

Fenris gave her a look, and Varric cleared his throat. His job tonight was crisis control. More accurately, Hawke control.

“We should get going,” Varric said. “We have floating cakes to eat and singing champagne to drink.”

“I thought it was singing wine?” Merrill said.

“Eh, champagne is just wine that costs more and has bubbles,” Varric said. “I’d trade both for a good ale, any day.”

Hawke tucked her hair behind her ear, peering up at Fenris. “I’m glad you made it.”

“This should be...interesting,” Fenris said. “But I am glad, as well.”

They walked up into Hightown, keeping Isabela and Merrill from getting too rowdy at all times. Fenris kept pace with them, though he’d not removed his cloak. It was something of a comfort at this point, and Hawke was pleased to notice this. She’d rather see him relaxed, but that she’d been able to provide something nice for him…

“What are Kirkwall parties like, exactly?” Fenris asked.

“As opposed to…?” Hawke said.

“Tevinter parties often involve a bit of bloodshed. At the best parties, someone has to die. Orlesians often see scandal and intrigue. Antivans have equal parts assassinations and sex. I’m not certain what to expect of Kirkwall.”

“Oh. Well, usually not so much blood,” Hawke said. “Not much magic before I got here, but uh...times change. Probably scandals and secrets, but nothing like what I’ve heard of Orlais. I knew this Grim once—not Zevran—she called herself Nightingale. Nobles invited her to predict who might get killed that night. What they didn’t realize is that sometimes she was the one doing the killing.”

“You keep dangerous company,” Fenris said.

“Oh, not usually,” Hawke said. “Mostly just Varric, Merrill, and Anders.”

“You never mentioned he was a wolf.”

“Oh. Right, Karl talked to me this morning.” Hawke pursed her lips and looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I didn’t keep it intentionally. I mean, I did, but only because it seemed more like his secret to keep.”

“I gathered as much,” Fenris said. He looked up at the stars as they walked. “Hawke, I...misjudged you.”

Hawke pulled to a dead stop. Fenris took a moment to realize she’d fallen back, but caught her wide eyed stare once he turned to her. She was starting to grin, which was a good sign, but she also knew that there was a warmth to her cheeks that likely meant they were red.

“How so?” she asked, voice dropping into a shy quiet.

“You are unlike other mages I have known. I believed they were all dangerous, as Danarius was, but you have shown me that is not true. I’d like to trust you,” Fenris said.

 _Like to._ Key words, there. Even if he was simply on his way towards trust, it was an improvement to how he’d been previously. Hawke nodded her head, a few too many times, showing her agreement and acceptance. This could take time, but he was willing to try.

“I’d like it if you could, too,” Hawke said.

“You offered me your friendship, and I...I want to...if I could…” Fenris took a deep breath. “I accept it.”

Hawke snorted. She didn’t mean to, and threw up her hands when he wrinkled his nose.

“I’m sorry,” she said, though she’d caught the giggles now and couldn’t stop. “It was just so formal! I’ve never had someone who felt the need to RSVP to my friendship.” Hawke covered her mouth, trying to calm herself. It was partially nervous laughter, which wasn’t helping.

But Fenris responded with a snort of his own. He tried to speak, but was caught in her infectious giggling, and the two of them ended up cackling together while the rest of the group looked back at them with confused stares. All this, and they were in fancy dress. Tonight was going to be good, Hawke could feel it.

“We haven’t even gotten to the party yet,” Varric said. “Save some of the merriment for when we get there.”

“Sorry, Varric,” Hawke said, flicking a tear from the corner of her eye. It hadn’t been that funny, she told herself, but it caught her off guard. And Fenris had laughed with her. Yes, this night would be splendid, indeed.

☀☀☀☀☀

“Messere Hawke!” the host cheered, rushing forward to greet her. They planted a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Glad to see you’ve made it. And these are your...friends, I take it?” There was the slightest hint of panic in their voice and in their eyes. They were focused on the group standing behind Hawke, particularly certain features.

Varric’s hooves. The scales that traced the sides of Isabela’s face. Merrill’s wings, that fluttered in response to her excitement. And Fenris’...well, Hawke guessed the shock was for the tattoos and the hair, since otherwise he appeared fairly normal. His wings were well covered.

Aveline stepped up beside Hawke and immediately started working on smoothing over the situation, but the host shook their head. “It is not an issue,” they decided, clapping their hands with a sudden cheer. “My little event will turn into the talk of the town, at this rate. Do mingle, and enjoy yourselves. I do need to borrow Hawke, for just a moment.”

Hawke nodded and followed, though not without a glance back at her friends. Aveline was hot on Isabela’s heels, who had run at the word “mingle.” Varric was off for the snack table. Merrill had— _sweet Andraste_ —actually flown up to get a look at everyone’s outfits. Fenris was just sort of standing there, until he disappeared from her sight as if he’d never been there. It was a good thing he brought his cloak along. Hawke just hoped she could find him later, when she needed to.

For now, it was time for her to show off. The little paper doilies were assembled on a table, with sponge cake on each one. Hawke’s mouth watered a bit at the smell wafting off of them. She bet they’d gone to Bodahn and Sons Bakery. Bodahn did know his way around sweets.

Hawke stood with the host and their husband at the base of a giant staircase. The musicians in their far corner were signaled to stop, and the dancefloor naturally cleared. Hawke heard delighted gasps as Merrill came flitting down from her perch on the chandelier. At least they didn’t sound horrified.

The host stepped forward to speak. “Honored guests, esteemed colleagues, and dearest friends, welcome to our home this evening. As you know, with every party we host, we include a special treat unlike any other. Well, tonight, the Champion of Kirkwall herself has agreed to provide us with just that, as well as a demonstration of her skills. Messere, if you’d please…”

They gestured for Hawke to step forward, who did so with a small curtsy. As she moved to the center of the room, she heard more whispers, reacting now to the sparkle explosions from her skirt. She grinned and twirled once all the way around to release a bunch more sparkles. The crowd started to cheer, but she held up a hand.

 _Not done yet,_ she thought. She lifted her other hand, then brought them slowly in front of her. At her command, the little cakes started to fly towards her. This made a few people stumble back to avoid them, but Hawke was fully in control. She let the scent waft under their noses enough to tempt them, but circled them around to the center where she stood.

Producing a quill and that same yellow ink she’d used, she let them swirl into a line, placing the final mark upon the bottom of each doily. They dipped down slightly when the magic was released, but flew into place and hovered there without need of Hawke’s magic actively holding them.

She went through them (all 105) and set them up in elegant swirls rising towards the ceiling. None were too high for anyone to reach, or so low that people would need to bend over. Once they were all in place, Hawke put away her ink and pen, and lowered her arms.

“As they say in Orlais,” Hawke shouted for the whole room to hear, “ _bon appetit!_ ”

All the guests applauded, delighted by the little show she’d given. Hawke spun around slowly to catch all the faces, spotting most of her friends among the others. She couldn’t see Fenris, but it was quite a full room. She bowed once more, and fell back to let the guests eat cake.

Varric approached her with a mouthful of cake and praise. “The sparkles on your dress just gave it that extra touch. You should have made the doilies sparkle, too!”

Isabela snickered.

“Still?” Aveline groaned.

“I can’t help it if it’s funny!” Isabela said.

“Sparkles cost extra,” Hawke said, ignoring the other two. “But it would’ve been great.”

“Are you going to have enough energy for the night?” Merill asked.

“Oh, yeah, probably,” Hawke said with a noncommittal shrug.

“You just enchanted one hundred...objects, and cast a simultaneous spell of levitation on each of them,” Merrill said.

“One hundred and five,” Varric corrected.

As if Hawke needed the reminder on any of this. Her head was spinning a little bit. Besides all that they mentioned, she’d cast glamours before they’d left on those who needed and a big one on herself for the dress. Maintaining all of those, and all the enchanting…

Hawke waved her hand dismissively. “I’ll have enough power for the final show,” she said. “Might just take it easy on the dancing.”

“You should not wear yourself out, Hawke,” Fenris said.

Hawke jumped. He’d snuck up behind her while she was talking to the others.

“Keep doing stuff like that and I’ll start to forget that _Karl_ is our resident ghost,” Hawke said.

“Apologies,” Fenris said. “But my point is the same. Do not make yourself unnecessarily weary. You put yourself in danger.”

“You’re worried about me?” Hawke said. As it seemed to always happen when she spoke to Fenris, a flush was spread across her cheeks. She just couldn’t help herself.

“Is that strange?”

“I guess not,” Hawke said, shrugging. “Unexpected, perhaps. I promise, I’m being careful.” A bold-faced lie, that, but one he accepted.

Just then, the music picked up into a new song. It was a slightly faster tempo than most they’d been playing. Hawke’s face now sported a smile; she’d had an idea. She extended her hand towards Fenris in offering.

“But I can’t go the whole night without at least one dance. Indulge me?” Hawke said.

Fenris was hesitant, as she expected him to be, but before she knew it his hand was clasped with hers and he was leading her out onto the dancefloor. It had repopulated since the excitement with the cake, and couples twirled with one another. Fenris seemed to know what he was doing, holding her waist with his free hand. Hawke gripped his shoulder with hers, and allowed him to lead.

He swept her around the floor, and Hawke got a bit of a rush from all the movement. She leaned in closer, and watched him blush in response. _That_ was a wonderful little surprise.

“Where did you learn to dance like this?” Hawke asked.

“I don’t actually remember,” Fenris said. Muscle memory was an incredible thing, apparently. “It must have been in one of my earlier lives, before Danarius. He never would have taught me such a thing. Waste of time, I imagine.”

Hawke had so many questions, and none of them that he could answer. So much of his life was missing, lost to memories of cruelties. It was all she could do to match them; for each thing that hurt, Hawke would offer something to make him smile.

Fenris twirled her around the dance floor for three songs, and they were halfway into the fourth when Hawke leaned her forehead against his shoulder. Her steps were slowing, her head aching.

“Hawke? Are you alright?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said with a small laugh, hoping it would ease his concern. “Maybe I should sit, for a minute.”

Fenris lead her to a chair, and before she could even speak two words he went off. He returned moments later with a drink in hand. He offered it to her.

“Thank you,” Hawke said. “Were you not thirsty?”

Fenris’ eyes trailed off. There was a strange pause of silence before he decisively replied, “No.” Had he not even thought about himself?

“Excuse me,” Hawke said, calling over one of the servers holding a small tray of food. “Could you get a drink for my friend here, please?”

“Right away, messere,” the server said, then scurried away. If Hawke thought she wouldn’t get a headrush simply for standing, she would have gotten it herself.

“Thank you,” Fenris said quietly.

“You’re welcome. But really you should be thanking the man who just ran off while I’m sitting here on my lazy butt,” Hawke joked.

Fenris shook his head. “No, I mean… Thank you, Hawke. For inviting me here. I’ve had more fun than I would have expected.”

“Stick with me and you’ll have more fun than you’ve ever _dreamed._ ”

Fenris gave a soft laugh. “Alright. I shall remain at your side.”

Hawke’s heart was only just calming from the dance when that comment made it’s pace increase again. She brought the cup to her lips to keep herself from saying something foolish, or babbling incoherently. Fenris took a seat next to her, and Hawke thought she felt her cheeks grow even warmer. Perhaps they had. He was so close to her now, and he was a phoenix, after all.

The rest of the night they sat and chatted together. It didn’t occur to Hawke until much later in the night that it was strange not to see Varric or Aveline or any of the others coming to bother her. But then she noticed Varric jumping in the path of some people headed her way in hopes they could talk with the Champion. They’d been herding the other guests away to let her have time with Fenris. Hawke was pretty sure she now owed each of them a pint.

Before long, it was midnight, which meant it was time for the finale. Hawke excused herself, and told Fenris to make sure he got a good spot to watch this one. She’d thought of just doing something flashy to clean up, at first, but he’d inspired something better.

The host said a goodbye speech, then Hawke took to the center of the room again. With her hands up, she drew in the now cakeless doilies. She let them swirl around her, then rose them higher to form a little paper tornado.

Then came the inferno. Hawke sent a swirling fire around, consuming all the frilly little doilies and lighting up the room. It was a controlled effort, making sure none of the flames could jump from their vortex and cause serious damage. But the crowd simply “oohed” and “ahhed” at the sight, starting to clap.

Finally, she pulled them into a ball, then allowed them to spread out like bright, burning wings. The guests went nuts when they saw this, as enchanted as Hawke’s dress was. She let the wings fall away, raining small pieces of ash that swirled around her on the floor. They collected themselves, and all the servants had to do was sweep them into a basket.

There was a roar of cheering this time, louder than they had been the whole rest of the night. But as Hawke waved and started to bow, she started to feel faint.

She could feel a sweat from the exertion begin on her brow. Hawke left the floor quick as she could, trying not to show how affected she was by doing all that magic in one night. She got pretty far before she stumbled, caught by a pair of strong arms.

“Hawke,” Fenris said. “I told you not to exhaust yourself.”

“Sorry,” she mumbled. It was all she could manage, at the moment. Her glamour fell around her, revealing a very plain dress underneath. Not fancy party material, at all. Not even peasant chic.

Fenris threw part of his cloak around her, hoping it would hide the both of them as he willed himself to disappear. “We should get you home,” he said.

“Let Varric know,” Hawke said.

Fenris groaned but staggered back towards the group of excitedly chattering party guests. He found Aveline first, hovering on the outside of the dense crowd, and decided she would have to do. He reappeared in front of her, giving her quite the start.

“Maker! Hawke was right. You really are acting like a ghost,” Aveline said. “Where is…?” Her eyes trailed down to Hawke, who gave a small salute. “You used too much magic, didn’t you?”

“Guilty,” Hawke said. She sounded as if she had more energy now, but the way she was leaning her weight into Fenris told him she was still just as weak. She was trying her hardest to keep up appearances.

“I’ll get Isabela and Varric,” Aveline said in a hurry.

Fenris rose a brow to Hawke in question.

“Glamours. On them both,” Hawke breathed. “Still holding them.”

Fenris groaned, but this time it was a little closer to a growl. “You are ridiculous.”

Aveline was back in seconds with the whole lot of them. If Hawke didn’t know any better, she’d think Aveline was a magical as well. She was able to both find and wrangle all of them so quickly. She shoved them all towards the door, insisting on saying polite goodbyes to the host and their husband in Hawke’s stead. Aveline was a shining beacon of light in a sea of…

Hawke twitched. Not good to think of seas, right then. Too much swirling and rocking about. She already felt dizzy enough.

They left together and rounded a sharp corner so Hawke could stop using her magic. Despite no longer needing to expend energy on that, it only made her slump more, adding weight to Fenris, who still had a good hold on her.

“I’ll take her home,” Fenris announced.

Hawke looked at the stunned faces of her friends just before they turned to leave. He must have made them invisible within his cloak. Good to know that it could hide more than one person, when needed.

It felt like the longest walk home ever, but when they arrived it also felt like it was unusually fast. Fenris helped her inside, sitting her down in a chair. He ran around the room looking for something, but cursed in a language she didn’t recognize after a moment. Then he grew still.

Fenris kept his back to her for a moment, then she saw him turn with a shine to his eyes. He was crying. He grabbed a glass and let some of his tears drip into it.

Hawke wanted to raise an objection, insist that this was unnecessary, but kept silent. He was going through this trouble because he wanted to. She wouldn’t be the one to tell him “no.”

“This should...help,” Fenris said quietly, handing her the glass.

He’d added regular water to it, so it didn’t feel quite as strange when she drank from it. The change was instant. Her head no longer swam and her strength returned. She could feel the magic returning to her. Hawke was still tired, but now due only to the hour and all the dancing. This was the power of a phoenix’s tears.

“Thank you,” she said.

The both of them remained silent for almost a full minute. It was dawning on Hawke just why someone like Danarius might be after the power of a phoenix. Their fire could burn white hot, and their tears could heal and even restore mana. It was incredible, but it terrified Hawke to know that if someone ever learned of what Fenris was, that he could be unsafe for it. Particularly if there was a mage who wanted to use his power.

But in that, there was also a quiet awe. He had trusted her with the secret, though she had figured it out on her own. Fenris had also just offered the use of his abilities willingly, which she imagined meant as much to him as it did to her.

Hawke wanted to thank him again, express how much she truly meant it, but found herself at a loss for words.

“I should go,” Fenris said at last.

Hawke opened her mouth, but closed it again. She almost told him he didn’t have to leave, but she thought about the reality of the situation, and knew that wasn’t true. It was late, he was probably tired as well, and she didn’t have any spare rooms or a bed to offer him. And she could _not_ invite him to hers.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” Hawke asked.

Fenris looked away, thinking on it for a moment, then rose his eyes to meet hers again. “Yes. If you would like, I can show you where I live.”

Hawke’s brows rose, though she hoped she didn’t look too excited. “That sounds… That would be nice, yes!”

They agreed to meet at the Hanged Man, which he claimed was a decent midway point between their houses. Hawke trusted his judgment on that. She had enough energy in her to walk him back to the door and see him off proper before he disappeared into the night again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this, as anything else I’m writing, waxes and wanes. But I do want to update more often I swear!!! QAQ
> 
> Thankfully, I had some cool ideas for the magic bits and knew I had to write that! And next we go to Fen’s house!


	9. The Houseguest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This one is called Ignite so I just knew I had to use it.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UqZwYFicVSU) I hope you guys are enjoying this little music thing for this fic. It’s been fun to look for songs to share with you!

Fenris hated gossip, but couldn’t help but to hear it when he walked through the streets invisible, as he was now. He’d woken up early, though he’d not intended to. It was a while yet before he needed to meet Hawke, and he’d already been wandering around Hightown for an hour. Normally he avoided it, but now that Fenris could disappear, he took the chance to actually explore.

He still preferred Lowtown, oddly enough.

The aforementioned gossip had a lot to do with his impression of the place. He recognized some of the faces of the people from the party, then overheard them talking about Hawke. Curiosity got the better of him, and so he listened.

“...an impressive display of her magic, truly, but did she have to bring those...creatures?”

“I don’t know, I thought the satyr was rather charming.”

“I’m pretty sure he tracked mud in. Probably carrying all sorts of disease.”

“Can we even catch an illness that they have? Maybe some sicknesses only affect magicals.”

“Friend of mine recognized the mermaid. Said he got something from her when they met. Disgusting.”

“What was the fellow with the pale hair, though? I couldn’t tell.”

“Not sure. But Messere Hawke seemed fond of him. She wouldn’t dance with anyone else, and those little friends of hers kept them from trying. Claimed she needed to reserve her strength for the finale. Then when that was done, she up and disappeared.”

“Hmm… You don’t think she’s sleeping with him, do you?”

“Dear Maker… That would explain a lot. In bed with a magical.”

“Technically she’s magical, too.”

“But she doesn’t have their _parts._ ”

Fenris could listen no more. The higher up the chain you went among the humans, the more anti-magical sentiment you could see. He hardly needed the reminder.

He did feel a little responsible for the way those two badmouthed Hawke. She’d intended to use the event to bridge the gap between those with magic and those without. Instead, Hawke spent the whole night focused on him. Fenris should have told her to leave him and enjoy the party, but he’d been enjoying himself too much to think of such a thing.

He was curious about how the nobles mentioned Hawke’s friends keeping other guests from speaking with her. Did they not care about the anti-magical attitude amongst the nobles? Or were they really that concerned about Hawke’s health? Fenris had been worried, as well, but it seemed an odd reaction to isolate her all night. Well, her and Fenris.

He felt his face warm up, remembering that he’d spent a whole night practically alone with her. They’d even danced. Something he’d not realized he’d known how to do until she asked him to.

_In bed with a magical._

Fenris was certain he’d actually spark fire with how his cheeks tingled. It was just the rumors of bigoted noblemen, but it did set his mind wandering down a path.

Hawke _was_ beautiful. Quite beautiful, in fact. Even when the glamour had faded and she was dressed quite plainly, he’d thought she was lovely. Fenris would insist that anyone would be lucky to have her. And he supposed that would include him.

While his traitorous mind produced images of her in compromising positions, Fenris forced himself to move. He’d go to Lowtown, to the Hanged Man, and maybe find Varric. Ask him about what they’d intended to do with their little stunts the other night. Push his thoughts towards any other subject before he lost it.

☀☀☀☀☀

Varric was decent company, though not terribly helpful in distracting Fenris. The satyr kept bringing up the party and Hawke. Varric seemed to be prodding Fenris for some kind of information, but what he might know that the satyr did not was a mystery. Eventually, Varric seemed to get bored of these attempts, and did get to talking about something else.

Talking...which really meant _telling._ He moved onto some of his stories, admitting that it was rare that he got this sort of test audience. Varric would use Hawke for that purpose, but she was terribly biased and would shower him with praise regardless of the actual quality. Fenris gave a small snort when Varric told him that.

“Yes, that does sound like her,” Fenris said. There was a fondness in his voice he hadn’t meant to reveal, but Varric’s expression told Fenris that it had not gone unnoticed.

“Y’know, she looked really happy last night,” Varric said. “I should thank you for helping her have a good time. She gets wrapped up in politics a lot at these things. It’s rare she just gets to have fun.”

“We both know I was not solely responsible for that,” Fenris said.

Varric laughed. “I have _no idea_ what you could possibly mean.”

But of course he did. Fenris shook his head. He had to admit, he was grateful for Hawke’s friends taking the time to look after her. He got the impression that it was a mutual thing; they helped her and she helped them. Not out of obligation or debt, but just because they cared about each other. That concept alone was foreign to him, and Fenris found himself wanting quite badly to know what that was like.

When Hawke finally appeared, Varric was into the dramatic finale of her daring rescue of the Viscount’s son. Fenris knew she was there when he heard a soft snort behind him.

“There were not that many mercs,” Hawke insisted. “And Aveline was with us, too. I mean, we _were_ outnumbered, but not by that much.”

“Stories aren’t about telling the truth. They’re about what the audience wants to hear. What is most interesting. Adding the guard captain makes it look like you were just on a job instead of doing something heroic out of the good of your heart. And making it seem like a desperate struggle makes the victory more satisfying,” Varric said.

Hawke simply rolled her eyes. “What’s satisfying is that Seamus is safe and working hard to dispel a lot of anti-magical bullshit that centered around the minotaurs after all that happened.”

“Hawke, no one wants to hear about the politics of the thing. They want to hear how you kicked ass,” Varric argued. “Right, Fenris?”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind a bit of political intrigue,” Fenris said.

Varric grumbled. “Suck up.” He stood, giving Hawke his seat. “I’d better go. These books don’t write themselves.”

“Imagine the free time you’d have if they did,” Hawke said.

“But then the critics wouldn’t be able to blame me for all the failures of the story,” Varric said, with mock despair. “Catch the two of you later.”

Hawke slid easily into the chair. She was dressed fairly plainly, though she’d matched an olive green cloak with a hood to her outfit. It was particularly cloudy that morning, which could mean rain. Fenris was hoping the clouds would just clear up. He hated water.

“So,” Hawke began, tracing circles on the table with the tip of her finger, “shall we go? Or are you simply enjoying the sights and sounds the Hanged Man provides too much? Because frankly, this is the best place in the city to hear drunken men belch the alphabet.”

“Seems a bit early for a sight like that,” Fenris said.

“Oh, you would be surprised.”

They agreed, regardless of the high quality of entertainment at the tavern, that they would rather be on their way. Hawke was almost bounding with each step she took. She talked almost the whole walk to his house, about nothing in particular. Fenris just listened, staying visible so she wouldn’t lose him.

After so long with the cloak, he felt exposed whenever he let himself be seen, even though it had to be intentional. Hawke made it better. She usually didn’t stare and when she did, it didn’t have the same context of judgment or examination. When she was caught, she broke away, becoming flustered.

“Do I have something on my face?” Fenris asked, with a hint of teasing in his tone.

“No, just...handsome,” Hawke blurted. Then she hid her face, shouting, “I mean, hand some...directions to me later cause boy I could get lost in all these back streets and alleyways!” She marched a few steps ahead, until she remembered that she didn’t know where to go.

“I’ll see if I can draw you a map. I don’t take the most direct routes, though,” Fenris said.

“Easier not to get tracked?” Hawke said.

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t necessary, not lately at least. He’d not seen any of Danarius’ hirelings in months. But the caution was a force of habit, and it certainly didn’t hurt. Besides, it assured Fenris that he knew the city better than anyone else. He could lose the best of the Carta members in these streets.

His home was really more of a two-room shack. With one person, there was no need for any more space. Fenris had been tempted, at one point, to take up an abandoned mansion owned by a (now dead) merchant who had been friends with Danarius. But he’d not known what to do with all the space, and a magical in Hightown was always seen as conspicuous. As far as he knew, though, the place was still uninhabited.

“I...like what you’ve done with the place?” Hawke said. Compared to the mess of her own home, this place was spectacularly empty.

There was a rug, a table, a chair that looked plush despite desperately needing a reupholstering, and a wooden chair with a badly broken leg that Fenris advised her not to sit on. The one window in the main room was covered with thick curtains, though Fenris pulled them aside as she entered to let some light in. A far corner housed a large bucket, which was probably used for washing.

The table was spread with dishes, all spotless and stacked neatly. The floors were also tidy, and even when the curtains were moved, no dust kicked up. A bit ragged and spare, but clean.

Fenris had covered the doorway to his room with another thick curtain of the same material that had covered the windows. He was glad he’d thought to do that, a while back, now that he had Hawke standing here. She certainly didn’t need to see the piles of dirty laundry on his floors, or the mussed bedroll he slept in. For whatever reason, he found he cared what impression he left.

Hawke walked over to the broken chair, examining the leg. “I could fix this, I think. It’s wood, so a spell of regrowth could work,” she said. Then she paused, and looked back to Fenris. “Only if you’re okay with it, of course.”

“You aren’t still tired from last night?” he asked.

“A tiny regrowth spell won’t wear me out,” she said, rolling her eyes as if this were obvious. “Uh, but… I’m alright, I mean. I shouldn’t do huge magic, but this is little enough. No danger.”

Fenris nodded, and let Hawke do her thing. She lifted her hands, and wisps of green magic sprouted from them like leaves. The broken leg started to grow, winding down in a twisting, gnarled shape. Little branches popped out as it went, with bits of green leaves decorating the leg. The base appeared more like that of a tree than a chair, but it would hold weight. It would just be something of an oddity, now.

“That is...helpful. Thank you,” Fenris said. He watched as Hawke moved over to the seat and sat, shifting her weight on her hipbones until she was comfortable.

“I can grow whole chairs, too. There have been a few people who appreciate the aesthetic. They say it’s got ‘rustic charm.’ Those are the same people who look like they’ve never set foot in Lowtown,” Hawke said. “Can’t say I completely hold it against them. If I had the choice from the start, I probably would have avoided it, too. But now it’s home, so I can’t help but get kind of defensive.”

Fenris grimaced, reminded of the conversation he’d overheard that morning. Hawke’s comment made it seem like she could have been one of them, the people throwing the expensive parties and gossiping on the streets of Hightown, rather than the woman who befriended magicals and lived in a shack not much nicer than this one. That was the thing nobles wanted her to become.

So long as she skirted the social classes, never quite landing in one or the other, she was an outsider. Definitely to the rich, and perhaps to a number of the magicals as well.

“Oh!” Hawke exclaimed. “That’s why this place is kept so tidy, even though it’s so spare. You never mentioned your roommate.”

Fenris tilted his head. “I live alone.”

“...right. You wouldn’t know. Part of their nature and all,” Hawke continued. She was walking towards a corner, examining the wall with great interest. She hummed and nodded, and Fenris found the whole thing quite bizarre.

“Probably won’t get the chance to meet them,” Hawke said with a sigh. “Merrill has told me about the different kinds of fairies. Do you know much about them?”

Fenris swallowed. Oh, he knew plenty, but probably not in the sense to which Hawke was referring. He could clam up, say “no” and let that be the end of it. Yet, today had been an act of small daring. Fenris had extended her some trust already. Why not try for more?

“All that I know of them are what my former master used them for,” Fenris admitted. “Danarius saw them only by the amount of coin he could gain from butchering them.” He couldn’t help a growl as he said the name.

Hawke nodded solemnly. “Merrill mentioned a few of those things, as well, whenever she gifted me a bit of dust. But your little houseguest is rarely caught by mages. Brownies, they call them. Not like the cakey sweets, though they can be rather kind, so long as you’re thankful for what they give you.”

“And what is that?”

Hawke grinned. “A warm and healthy home. They like to find families, normally, people who need the help. This one seems attached to you, though.”

She got down on her knees after that, staring at what Fenris had thought was just a mousehole. Now he studied it closer, stepping beside her, and realized it was too odd to belong to a mouse.

“Crouch down, you might scare them like that,” Hawke said, lightly tugging his pant leg.

Fenris made a face, but did as she asked and knelt beside her. He could see the faintest glow inside the hole, from this angle. Like a very tiny home within his own.

“Excuse me,” Hawke said tenderly, “but my friend and I would love to meet you. We appreciate what you’ve done. I hope you don’t mind my little trick with the chair. I’m certain you’d meant to work on it when you’d the chance.”

Fenris bit back a chuckle. For all he knew, the oddities were just in his head, and Hawke really was cooing to a mouse. He waited, silent, and tried to believe what she must have been sensing.

“I understand if you’re shy. My friend Merrill, she’s a fairy of the flowers, and it took her a little while to warm up to me at first. I just thought it would be nice to tell her I’d met an actual Brownie! If you’d rather not be bothered, I promise I will understand,” Hawke said.

Another moment of silence passed, when the tiniest sound of the tiniest footsteps sounded in the hole, as if it were a long hallway. The light inside was obscured by a figure, who appeared to be no more than shadow until he stepped out in front of the two of them.

He had a hat that was almost comically large, considering his size, and peered up with the brightest blue eyes. Pale blonde hair covered his face, and he appeared—for the most part—to just be a miniature person. Though his proportions were off. All of him was a little shorter, and not just because of his size, but his hands and feet were rather large. His facial features were also large and exaggerated, which was another reason why his eyes stood out so much.

Fenris gazed at Hawke, who could not contain her look of utter delight. Every bit of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes was genuine. And every bit of Fenris felt warm for acknowledging it.

“Greetings!” Hawke chirped. “My name is Hawke, and this—as I’m sure you must know—is Fenris. Thank you again for your help.”

The Brownie nodded, with a slight smile, then looked to Fenris expectantly.

“Yes,” Fenris agreed, forcing himself to speak. “Thank you. I had no idea you were even here. I apologize for not...appreciating your work sooner.”

“But you did,” the Brownie spoke. “The flame comes to settle here, to rest. He smiles at the freshly made bed, at the dustless carpet. You bring warmth here. You bring light.”

“Like a moth to a flame,” Hawke said. “Fenris seems to be attracting all sorts of people, lately. It’s a pleasure to meet you…”

“Cole,” the Brownie said. “That is my name, or what people call me. I think you consider those the same thing.”

“That’s correct. We’re not like fairies, in that way,” Hawke said.

“You don’t use his name, either,” Cole said, looking to Fenris. “Just the thing he’s been called.”

Fenris froze. Something...something was trying to come to the surface of his mind. Something he was supposed to know. But as it rose, it burned in a hot flame that consumed the thought all at once. He grunted with discomfort.

“I have no name,” Fenris said. He wasn’t sure why he’d put it like that, but it seemed right. The thing that Danarius gave him was no more a proper name than “serah” or “messere.” It was just, as the Brownie had mentioned, what people called him. And it was what he responded to, Fenris supposed.

“That is not true. Sad songs sung soft, but in echoes they become loud. Calling the name of their lost brother. Begging him to come home. Missed, missing, misplaced. You have been lost,” Cole said. Those large eyes of his were unsettling.

Fenris grimaced. “I don’t want to hear about this.”

He stood, and stalked off to the other side of the room. He could hear whispered conversation between the Brownie and Hawke. She sounded frantic at first, apologizing for Fenris’ mood, which only soured it further. Then it fell into gentler chatter, which Hawke took very seriously. She kept gesturing with her head, yes’s and no’s and a few so-so’s. Eventually he watched Cole bow a little and take off back into his hole in the wall.

“Phew, okay, he’s not going to hold a grudge. He’s actually pretty young for his kind so he doesn’t believe much in the whole vengeance gig other Brownies do,” Hawke said, brushing off her skirt as she came closer.

“What would he hold a grudge for?” Fenris said. His arms were crossed and his brow was furrowed.

“Uh...well—and I’m not saying that I thought this—but Brownies tend to take rudeness very seriously. I didn’t want him to destroy your house or something over that, but he understood. And so do I!” She was fumbling a bit, speaking too quickly.

Fenris forced himself to relax. He had never intended to make Hawke nervous. He thought of apologizing for his mood.

“How did he...know all of that?” Fenris said instead.

“I’m not sure, actually,” Hawke admitted. “Cole’s kind are very secretive and private. We were lucky to meet him like we did. It’s possible they have powers no one knows about just because no one ever really gets the chance to speak with them. All fairies are proficient in magic. Which is why there’s the myth that mages are descended from fae. Which...isn’t true, as far as I’m aware. Though it’s possible, I suppose. I wouldn’t know.”

She stared at the ceiling in contemplation before letting her gaze lower with a start. “Oh! But um...he might be able to read your thoughts a bit? Or he just learned things about you because he technically lives with you. Cole promised to reupholster the chair, too, by the way.”

Fenris blinked. “That isn’t necessary.”

“It’s sort of his purpose in life,” Hawke said with a little giggle. “Trust me, Cole likes helping people. Though he probably wouldn’t mind it if you shared a bit of your food, now that you know he’s there.”

Fenris nodded, a bit absent in his thoughts. Something the Brownie had said about a song had struck a particular blow of melancholy, but he had no clue why. Fenris sometimes heard distant birdsong in his dreams, the faint memory of when he must have had a flock of his own. The way Cole had talked about it, the singing was not only that.

_Missed, missing, misplaced. You have been lost._

It had been years since he’d come to Kirkwall. Lifetimes he had been with Danarius. Was there any chance that his family, his blood, was still searching for him in the skies?

“Fenris?” Hawke said, her voice softer now. “Are you alright?”

“I’m...not sure,” he said. Fenris hated the concern in her eyes, but not because he saw pity. Normally that was the cause of his ire for such a look. This time, all Fenris could think was how he’d much rather see her smile, with stars in her eyes, the way she’d looked the other night as they danced.

On an impulse, he took up her hand. “I should teach you to dance.”

Hawke gave a curious smirk. “You didn’t even realize you knew how until yesterday.”

“Perhaps, but I did notice your technique was lacking,” Fenris teased.

“Woe is me! I’ll be the laughingstock of Hightown if word gets out!” Hawke said, dramatically throwing her head back while her hand fell against it, knuckles grazing her temple. “Please, messere, save me from the embarrassment.”

Fenris laughed. “Has anyone ever told you how ridiculous you are, serah Hawke?”

“Only every day since I was born,” Hawke countered.

And so they laughed, and danced (poorly), and ate, and talked until evening was upon them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was thinking of what my Inquisitors and Wardens would be, as well as their companions, and when it struck me what Cole should be I knew I _had_ to find a way to include it. So here he is! I have no idea if the others will pop up, though I’ve ideas for what they could/should be, so...maybe?
> 
> Now to tease you for the next chapter: Bethany and Carver come to town!


End file.
